


Harry Evans and the School of Witchcraft and Wizardry

by sapphic_odin



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Harry Potter Never Went to Hogwarts, Indian Harry Potter, M/M, Parselmouth Harry Potter, Tutoring
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-08-23
Updated: 2020-08-24
Packaged: 2020-09-24 15:13:08
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 10
Words: 27,780
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20360614
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sapphic_odin/pseuds/sapphic_odin
Summary: After his first bout of accidental magic Harry Potter is shipped off to an orphanage. When no Hogwarts letter ever finds him, he is presumed dead. However, a 16 year old Harry Evans is found in London with a scar on his forehead, just when the people are losing all hope due to the rise of the resurrected Dark Lord Voldemort.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I would appreciate any and all feedback! Hope you enjoy the story!

Mr and Mrs Dursley, of number four, Privet Drive, were proud to say that they were perfectly normal, thank you very much. They were the last people you’d expect to be involved in anything strange or mysterious, because they just didn’t hold with such nonsense. 

The Dursleys had everything they wanted, but they also had a secret, and their greatest fear was that somebody would discover it. They didn’t think they could bear it if anyone found out about the Potters. Mrs Dursley’s sister, Mrs Potter, and her husband were as unDursleyish as one could be. And not only that! They had went and got murdered! Why, it was quite strange and mysterious when the little Potter child had been left on their doorstep and they had promptly tried to raise him as normally as possible. If they had to have an orphan hanging around it better be a well and truly normal orphan. When the little Potter boy turned three was the first time – that they noticed – that he did something decidedly abnormal. Freakish even. He floated his toys about! That sealed the deal. The boy was strange and mysterious and a freak and Mrs Dursley went straight to an orphanage, put the blanket he had arrived at their doorstep in around his shoulders, gave him a piece of perfectly normal stationery paper with a short note and sat him on the doorstep. 

“You stay there, boy,” she said. “You hear me? No freakishness. Just sit there until someone comes to get you. Then show them that note.”

She turned on her heel and walked down to her car. With a single glance out the window at the little boy, she drove off. She left him sitting on the middle step of the porch, with his perpetually messy black hair sticking straight up in the back of his head and his big green eyes staring at her and his too big clothes hanging off him. He was clutching the note hard enough to crinkle the paper. He owned nothing but the blanket, the clothes on his back, and a crumpled note. 

_ To Whomever It May Concern, _

_ The boy with this note is called Harry James Evans. His parents are dead and we cannot take care of him. His birthday is the 31st of July and he is three years old. No allergies. _

Harry James Evans woke up on his sixteenth birthday to a bit of a surprise. Of course, the surprise wouldn’t come until much later. But it was still going to be surprising. He woke up, did his bed and left the dorm to get breakfast. It wasn’t his kitchen day – and thank god for that, it had been last year and doing chores on your birthday is just no fun. 

“Harry!” Brian yelled. He was sitting on the far end of the long table, where Harry plopped himself down to inhale some toast and juice. “Happy birthday, man. Sixteen’s a big ‘un.”

“Thanks,” Harry said, after swallowing. Brian was the type to clap his friends on the back in a very manly way, to show affection. He was nice enough, and one of the few residents in the orphanage in Harry’s age range. They never talked much in school but were amicable enough in the home. The only other orphans over thirteen they had at Saint Natalia’s Orphanage were Becky and Lissie, whom were fifteen and seventeen respectively. Becky didn’t get along with Harry, though that was a fairly recent development. It was mostly because of her new boyfriend, a skinhead, who might have been better off if he was orphaned ‘cause his mum was just that terrible. Lissie was actually called Annalise, but she had been bullied for being too good and posh for the rest of them and had made everyone called her Lissie or suffer the consequences. She was on kitchen duty today. 

After breakfast and an awkward gift from the matron – a plain black shirt, the best they could do currently, she had explained – he hurried outside, armed with his skateboard and backpack and dressed in his new shirt. As soon as he was on the sidewalk he started skating. He loved the feeling of the wind in his hair as he zoomed through London’s streets. It was like he imagined flying to be. Sometimes he swore he could feel the aircurrents directing him in just the right direction, pushing him along. He stopped outside Jonathan’s apartment complex. Jonathan was eighteen and had gone to school with Harry, just one year above him because he was held back. He had moved into his own apartment last winter. Harry pressed the doorbell and heard the buzzer in reply. He hurried up to apartment 204 and knocked. 

Jonathan threw open the door with more aggression than most people might, when greeting a friend, but that’s just how he was. “Harry-Jay!”

“Jona-Taj!” Harry smiled and let himself be drawn into a hug. 

“How’s my birthday boy doing?” Jonathan asked as he ushered him inside and onto his bed. It was a cramped apartment with one chair, a bed, a table, a stove, a small fridge, a bathroom, and not much more. Harry loved it. 

“Feel no different than last night.”

“We need to fix that, mate,” Jonathan said as he pulled a vodka out of his fridge and waved it in front of Harry’s face.

“I’m pretty sure your supposed to freeze that, not refrigerate it. And I have work later.”

Jonathan rolled his eyes and let himself fall onto the bed. He put a hand to his face. “You’re so responsible, it’s disgusting. And whatever. One birthday shot won’t kill you.”

Harry laughed. “Okay, one shot. But I want to greet my one true love first.”

“You just want me for my snake,” Jonathan bemoaned, but wiggled his eyebrows suggestively. 

“Yes. Give me your snake,” Harry said, deadpan. Jonathan chuckled. “For real. Get that snake in here.”

Jonathan grumbled but gave in and went to the bathroom where he kept a vivarium. He reentered the bedroom-livingroom-kitchen with a royal python held carefully in his hands. 

“ _ Harry! _ ” The python hissed. “ _ You won’t believe what happened! My human only fed me yesterday! Yesterday! _ ”

Harry smiled indulgently and took the offered snake from Jonathan. “ _ Wow, that must have been eight whole days! It means your growing, you know, adult snakes don’t eat as often. _ ”

The snake’s tongue flickered. “ _ I guess that’s acceptable. I’m becoming a big and intimidating predator after all. _ ”

_ “Exactly. _ ” Harry continued to chat with the snake, Mr Freckles, for a while before it got sleepy and demanded to be put back. Jonathan had lounging on the bed beside them, reading a magazine while he waited, sometimes looking up at Harry and Mr Freckles. “He wants to go back now,” Harry told him.

Jonathan scooped up Mr Freckles and put him back in the bathroom. When he came back out he had a wicked smile on his face. “So. Those birthday shots.”

Harry laughed and held his hands up in surrender. “Okay, okay. But I said one shot!”

“Your getting two,” Jonathan said. Two turned to three turned to six and Harry called in sick to work, so they took another shot each. They were laying in the bed, side by side when Jonathan reached out and traced Harry’s lips. Harry bit his finger, then turned to his side to look at Jonathan. He had black hair and dark skin. They had that in common. Where Harry was a bit of a mess though, Jonathan was cool. His hair was sleek and his eyes deep and dark. He didn’t know who moved first but Jonathan’s lips felt soft and his tongue wet, but in a good way. His hair was soft where Harry clutched at it and the muscles in his arms moved under Harry’s fingers. He could feel Jonathan gently nipping his bottom lip and he moved his head just a bit to the side to deepen the kiss, licking into Jonathan’s mouth and tasting vodka and orange juice and a little bit of smoke. He took off his glasses and Jonathan rolled and Harry was pressed into the mattress with Jonathan over him and everything felt so perfect and he was floating a little bit from the vodka and the kissing and now there was pressure on his cock and he moaned. 

Jonathan pulled back a little and Harry let his head fall back onto the pillow under him. “Harry-Jay,” Jonathan whispered. 

“Jona-Taj,” Harry whispered back.

“So, you’re legal now,” Jonathan said, punctuated with a roll of his hips. “At least in regards to the important stuff.”

Harry moaned, but managed to get enough control of himself to roll his eyes. “What? Now that it’s no longer illegal you gonna dump me?”

Jonathan smirked. “Nah. You’re too good. And you’d miss my snake.”

He dove back into Harry’s mouth.

Harry woke up after a post-coital nap still a little pissed and still a lot tired. He looked to his left at where Jonathan was snoring. They had originally bonded over being raised British, and trying Indian and Arabic foods that the orphanage and Jonathan’s step-mother would never dare eat. It was much too spicy in the beginning, but eventually they acquired enough of a resistance that they could be invited to Muhammed’s house without embarrassing themselves. Harry was hungry. He put on his glasses and found the flyer for a nearby curry place and called ahead to order vindaloo and naan for them both. Then he pulled on clothes and his shoes and grabbed his skateboard and wallet. 

While he was paying for the food he felt like a strange lady in the corner was staring a bit intently at him. He shrugged it off as being overly paranoid. He made his way back to Jonathan’s on foot, holding his board under his arm, so as not to spill the curry. Skating tipsy was one thing. Skating tipsy while holding curry was another. He discreetly looked around before floating his board beside him while he took out a cigarette he had nicked from Jonathan and lit it with a snap of his fingers. He inhaled deeply. When it was properly lit he took his skateboard back from where it was floating. He glanced around again and saw a movement behind him. He hoped it was a drug addict that wouldn’t have put much stock in a floating skateboard. Oh well. He took a drag and used the hand holding the plastic bag of food to hold the cigarette while he let the smoke out. He took another drag and when he blew out the smoke he let it form into Mr Freckles the snake. Okay so maybe tipsy made him a little reckless, but his freaky powers were more controllable when he used them regularly and the street was deserted anyway. Mostly, he added to himself as he passed a sleeping homeless man. Just as he was about to turn the corner he heard a yell and saw a flash of light. 

He jerked back and into an alley that was mostly used for trash cans. 

“Stupefy!”

“Protego!”

“Confringo!”

“Crucio!”

He heard nonsense yelling and saw lasers, so he carefully stuck his head out. From the direction he had been coming from he could see a lady in a black dress. From the direction he had been going he could see a dude in a black dress. He ducked back in. What. The. Hell. Two goths were shooting lasers at each other. 

He heard a scream and dared to peek out onto the street again. The lady was down. Hopefully unconscious, maybe dead. Did Jonathan lace his vodka with some shite? Harry wondered. He hid behind a trash bin incase the man was like a serial killer or in some sort of gothy gang and was going to murder him for being a witness. Echoing footsteps, slow and precise, were moving closer and he felt his breathing sped up. Oh god he was going to die. Bloody fuck. He was not ready for this.

The footsteps stopped and Harry opened his eyes, still crouched on the ground in a stinky alley behind a trash bin. He could see a pair of fancy black shoes and black trousers and as he raised his head a black dress over the trousers and a pale face and black hair. “Oblivi–,” the man began, pointing a stick at him, but suddenly stopped short. Harry eyed the laser-shooting stick warily. “Potter?” The man sounded shocked and a little horrified.

“What?” Harry asked. He was a little panicked and a lot confused and really wanted to just eat curry in Jonathan’s bed and make out with his not-boyfriend-because-Jonathan-doesn’t-do-that and finish celebrating his birthday. He couldn’t help feeling something was vaguely familiar about the name though. Potter. 

“Are you Harry James Potter?” The man said this as if it was the most important question in the world and Harry frowned at him.

“No. I’m Harry James Evans. You must have me confused with another Harry James, and really, this was lovely, but I should get going. I didn’t see anything, worry not. Lasers? In London? Never seen that. Anyways, it’s my birthday and I have food here that’s getting cold and someone waiting for me and –,” Harry felt a little panicked but was making his way to his feet so the strange man wasn’t looming over him. It didn’t help. He was so tall. Or Harry was short. A distinct possibility. He tried to edge away nonetheless but the man’s hand shot out and held him in place by his jaw. The man used his laser-stick to lift up Harry’s bangs and sucked in a breath. He let go of Harry as if burned.

“You’re him.”

Harry cleared his throat awkwardly. “No. As I just said my name is  _ Evans _ and I really must be going,” Harry walked out of the alley but didn’t make it far before the strange man had caught up to him. He didn’t slow down for him, but it didn’t seem to faze the man, who had incredibly long strides. 

“Allow me to escort you home, Mr Evans. I have something of the utmost importance to discuss with you.”

“Uh,” Harry said, trying in vain to walk faster. “I’m not going home. I’m going to a friend’s place. And I really can’t just bring visitors willy nilly. And I was just out quick for the curry. And really, you must be busy. I don’t even know who you are.”

“My name is Severus Snape, and I insist,” the man – Mr Snape – looked like he had swallowed something sour. 

Harry really hoped Jonathan could stab Mr Snape with his single kitchen knife before Mr Snape killed them both with lasers. He wondered what had happened to the lady’s body, it wasn’t there when they passed where he had seen it. Maybe he would be framed for murdering her and Jonathan and then Mr Snape would make it look like he killed himself in guilt. Oh god. Why didn’t he just go to work today. At least he felt completely sober by now. He stopped. They were there.  _ Sorry Jonathan _ , Harry thought. He rang the doorbell. A moment. They were buzzed in. He took the stairs slowly. Oh bloody fuck. Shite. At least he finished his GCSEs last spring. Imagine dying before finishing secondary school. God, what would happen to Mr Freckles? Would Mr Snape murder poor Mr Freckles, too? Or leave him to starve in the bathroom until someone found Harry and Jonathan’s bodies?

He opened the door to Jonathan’s apartment, he had left it unlocked when he left. “Harry-Jay! You better come bearing food, since you stole my cigs, you bastard.”

Jonathan was laying in the bed, shirtless still and sleek hair ruffled. “Uh,” Harry said eloquently. He held up the bag of curry but grimaced slightly as he stepped further into the apartment and let Mr Snape in. Jonathan cursed and pulled on a t-shirt that was laying on the floor. 

“What the bloody hell is going on, Harry?” 

“I was accosted by this man, Mr Snape, on the way back from Asim’s Curries,” Harry said. 

Jonathan blinked at Harry. Blinked at Mr Snape. He stood up, wrapped in a sheet to preserve his modesty. He took the single chair and motioned for Harry to sit on the kitchen counter, which he hastily obliged. He gestured to the bed. “Mr Snape. Sit down. Make yourself at home.”

Jonathan was like that. He went with the flow pretty well. He was also probably pretty close to his kitchen knife, Harry had no idea where it was stored. He was pretty sure he wouldn’t be able to get to it faster than Mr Snape could laser them dead. But maybe it was close enough to try.

Mr Snape grimaced as he sat on the bed. It was probably pretty obvious they had been buggering just a while ago. Jonathan hadn’t opened a window yet. 

There was an awkward silence until Harry grabbed two forks and handed Jonathan his food. They began eating, both looking up at Mr Snape occasionally. He looked incredibly uncomfortable. Harry could feel his fear dissipating slightly as he took in the ridiculousness of the situation. He kind of wanted to laugh but instead took a huge bite of vindaloo covered rice. The spices burnt and he could feel it in his eyes and nose but it was incredibly grounding. He stabbed a piece of pork with his fork and took a bite of it. Mr Snape seemed to have had enough by then, because he pinched his nose and sighed. “What in Merlin’s name have I gotten myself into,” he mumbled. “Mr Pott – Evans. Mr Evans, there is a subject of a rather private nature I wish to discuss with you.”

“Go for it,” Harry said. He ate a piece of potato. 

Mr Snape pressed his lips together in a decidedly displeased expression. “While this,” here he paused to look at Jonathan with clear judgement, “person is present?”

“Sure,” no way was Harry going to let Mr Snape split them up. That’s how people got murdered.

Mr Snape cleared his throat. “It is concerning–,” he looked slightly at a loss for words, “concerning certain skills you might have discovered you have that others do not.”

Harry stilled. 

Jonathan looked up from his food and peered at Mr Snape. “You mean his superpowers?”

Harry sputtered and glared at Jonathan. “They’re not superpowers!” And also a secret!

Jonathan rolled his eyes. “Sure, they’re not.”

Mr Snape closed his eyes with a sigh. “Yes. I believe it is about his… Superpowers. However, it is called magic.”

That shut them both right up. Having telekinesis and talking to snakes hadn’t seemed that far fetched when Harry was first discovering what he could do. Saint Natalia’s Orphanage read fairytales out loud in the evening to the youngest kids. It only made sense. He was an orphan, small, poor. His eyes were unusually, noticeably  _ green _ . Of course, when he turned thirteen he became too old to believe in fairytales and reformulated his theory into him being some sort of mutant or genetic experiment gone wrong and the government had to hastily cover up. Maybe it was even the American government - the movies and comics always happened in America - and they had shipped him off to England to cover all their bases. He didn’t know what theory to believe anymore. But there was definitely something freakish afoot. He had wondered, quite a few times, if a Dr Xavier type would come pick him up for training. Maybe this was it. A murdering, laser-wielding goth in a dress was his Dr Xavier. 

“What do you know about it?” Harry asked, suddenly filled with a burning  _ need _ to know. 

“Magic is a mostly genetic trait. Your parents had it. We all thought you were dead when the Hogwarts acceptance letters couldn’t find you,” Mr Snape began.

“Hogwarts?” Harry said. “You knew my parents?” He was feeling quite out of his depth.

“A school of witchcraft and wizardry. You’re a wizard, Harry.”

Harry didn’t really know what to say to that but it felt significant. He stared at Mr Snape, who looked like he was thinking very deeply.

“I knew your mother very well. Lily.”

Harry felt like he’d been punched. “Lily?” He said in a small voice, hating how weak he sounded. Jonathan moved his chair closer to him and squeezed his leg. “Was that her name?”

Now Mr Snape looked like he had been punched. “You don’t even know their names?”

Harry narrowed his eyes, trying to hide the tears, suddenly feeling defensive and sad and embarrassed and guilty and angry all at once and at the same time happy. He had his mum’s name. He had a mum. He had never felt like he had a mum, it was some abstract idea he never got but suddenly he had a name, and that meant she was real. He had a mum. 

“Your mother’s name was Lily Evans, until she married James Potter. They were both magic. Like you are. They died protecting you.”

Harry was feeling quite overwhelmed. A mum and a dad all at once. Magic. Other people with his powers, presumably. “Protecting me?”

“There was – is – a war. A sort of magical civil war,” Mr Snape said. “Your family was targeted by the Dark Lord himself, the leader of the Death Eaters. You are quite famous for not only surviving a curse no one else has ever lived through, but also vanquishing the Dark Lord and effectively stopping the war.”

“How could I have stopped it if there’s still a war?”

“This past year, the Dark Lord has been resurrected and the war has begun again,” Mr Snape said, his tone heavy. Weary. “You have to understand. You may not feel it. But you are – you could be a symbol of hope for a whole civilization that has none.”

“What.”

“There is a prophecy. Complete nonsense if you ask me. Nonetheless, people believe you have the power to vanquish him again, permanently this time,” Mr Snape said. “The Chosen One.”

“Okay, wait just a minute,” Jonathan said. “This is a bit much. Chosen One? You got to be pulling our legs, mate.” 

“People will believe what they will,” Mr Snape sneered. “And I certainly would not expect a sixteen year old to end a war. But regardless, people believe Harry can. Except, they also believe he is dead and are therefore convinced nothing can be done. We have a severe morale problem and the war has only been officially restarted for half a year. You need to come with me. We’ll enroll you in Hogwarts, reintroduce you to Magical Britain.”

Harry swallowed. “How’s this my problem? I have a life here. A mostly non-magical life. I have a job, my GCSEs, I’m gonna move out of the orphanage when I can and save up to higher ed. I have friends, I have Jonathan.”

Mr Snape looked at him, with a hard to discern expression. “If I found you, the Dark Lord will find you. You can bring the war to your muggle life or you can come with me.”


	2. Chapter 2

Harry was feeling extremely overwhelmed. More than that. He felt as if a bomb had exploded in his head and left pointy pieces behind in the wreckage. He wasn’t quite sure if his sixteenth birthday had been the worst possible birthday known to man or the best. It was all quite a lot.

It had taken some coaxing on Mr Snape’s part to get Harry to comply in what Harry had concluded was his kidnapping. He was being kidnapped from his childhood home and he had no way to say goodbye to anyone and he hadn’t even properly quit his job and really, this was all just a lot all at once. Mr Snape had showed up at Saint Natalia’s Orphanage with another strange man and they had laser-sticked people into unconsciousness when the matron had been understandably sceptical of two strange men demanding an orphaned teenager to enroll in an unheard of public school in a different country. She was threatening them with reporting them for child sex trafficking and Harry hadn’t really known what to do so had just stood there, awkwardly. 

When Mr Snape’s stranger had told him to go get all his worldly belongings and that he’d  _ change the matron’s memory _ so she thought he’d been adopted, Harry thought he was quite within his rights to have a minor tantrum. When he had pointed out that, actually, he wasn’t adopted, so where was he supposed to go when this school was presumably closed for holidays, Mr Snape’s stranger told him not to worry and they wouldn’t let him go back here anyways. Well. Let’s just say that Harry had been a bit hysterical all the way through getting all his stuff together and being teleported – yes,  _ teleported! _ – to an old grimy house. Where he had absolutely lost his cool when a little demon looking thing and a yelling painting had accosted him.

He was in the midst of his time-out in the kitchen. And yes, Mr Snape’s stranger had given him a  _ time-out. _ Like a child. 

“I see I shouldn’t have expected so much from you, Pot – Evans,” Mr Snape sneered as he sat down across from Harry. “You really are just like your father.”

It seemed Mr Snape was actually a terrible human being, when not having just discovered presumed dead Chosen Ones. And had a strange history with Harry’s parents that he didn’t particularly want to dig too deep into. Harry wasn’t necessarily sulking, but he was definitely ignoring Mr Snape and sitting in a dark kitchen, staring emptily into a tea cup. 

Mr Snape’s stranger came back into the room with another strange man (he had left after sitting Harry down for his time-out). 

“So,” Harry began. “Who even are you?”

Mr Snape’s stranger cleared his throat. “Forgive me for not introducing myself in all the chaos. My name is Remus. Remus Lupin. And this here is Sirius Black.”

Harry scrambled up from the table. “The escaped mass murderer!”

“No, no, no!” Sirius Black the mass murderer looked quite panicked. “I was framed! I’m innocent!” 

“I would say so too if I was an escaped mass murderer!” Harry yelled, discreetly hiding behind Mr Snape, who despite being terrible seemed to have a vested interest in keeping him alive. For political reasons. And possibly strange relations to his parents. God, he was picturing it now. Adults in threesomes. No thank you. 

Mr Lupin sighed. “Let’s all sit down and cool off for a second.”

Harry, who didn’t want another time-out, sat down at once. Sirius Black the mass murderer also followed Mr Lupin’s instructions, though Mr Snape seemed a bit grudging about it. 

“Alright,” Mr Lupin said. “I’ll start. I was good friends with your parents, Harry, and so was Sirius here, and one other person, Peter Pettigrew. When your parents were murdered, Sirius was framed for selling them out and murdering the witnesses, when in fact it was Pettigrew.”

Harry frowned. He didn’t even care about his parents before Mr Snape had told him about them, and now there was already intrigue and drama. What kind of American soap opera was he in? “Okay.”

“Okay?”

“Okay. I didn’t even know they were murdered until Mr Snape said so,” And really it was just common sense to comply with kidnappers. Sort of kidnappers. He still wasn’t sure how to feel about the whole situation. Great now his kidnappers were looking at him with pity and shite. Some people had that reaction to orphans. 

Sirius Black the framed mass murderer cleared his throat. “Right. I’m your godfather, Harry. I was supposed to take care of you,” he said. His voice cracked at the end and tears were filling his eyes. “I’m so sorry. I should have been there for you.”

Harry could not deal with other people’s emotions on a good day, and not at all when he was feeling a lot of things himself. Also, there’s something slightly unsettling about a possibly-possibly-not murderer calling himself a  _ godfather. _ He might be mafia. So he decided on a smooth getaway. “Look, that’s nice. I guess. I’m just  _ so _ tired. It’s been good to meet you. But I could really use to pack out and maybe take a kip.”

Sirius Black, framed mass murderer and godfather, hurried to stand up. “Let me show you to your room!”

Harry nodded and stood to follow him. Mr Black was suddenly an overexcited puppy instead of a broken man, and Harry wondered if he was a bit loopy. The room was nice enough. It was newly refurbished, apparently, and had a huge four poster bed. It had a colour theme and everything (brown and silver). Harry felt very fancy living in such a room. Mr Black was nervous about his opinion but finally left him alone after some reassurances. Harry sprawled on the bed, it was very soft. 

_ I can’t believe this is my life now _ .

Harry learnt a lot about magic during the next few days. The little demon was a house elf, and named Kreacher. The yelling painting was Mr Black’s mother Walburga. Harry commiserated, he, too, would be yelling at everyone angrily if he was named  _ Walburga. _ However, it turned out that she was magic-racist, so he stopped feeling sorry for her. Apparently the war Mr Snape had spoken of was some sort of racism thing. Thankfully he was the hero for the non-racists. At least. That’s what they said. But he really should find some people with a more objective perspective. Like, of course they would say themselves were the good guys. He also learnt that he was rich. Which was nice, since he was probably fired after completely vanishing. Or maybe Jona-Taj covered for him. But probably not. They didn’t have that sort of relationship. Most of all, he learnt that he was going to be cramming all year at magic school. They were going to put him with his own year group, but give him tutors in all subjects and at the end of the year he would either take an exam called OWL that his peers had taken this year or he would be held back until he could. He hoped he could cut it. They had made him read some textbooks for first and second years, so he didn’t go in blind. Mr Lupin had been a great help in most of his subjects, and Mr Black had monologued about Transfiguration in a completely unhelpful way (though he did make Harry very interested in it, he wanted to turn into an animal!). Mr Snape had even taken him to the basement and showed him some Potions basics. Though he had been very rude about it all and borderline abusive in his criticisms. Harry thought his father must have really broken Mr Snape’s heart. 

After a week of learning seemingly random highlights from the first two years’ curriculum Mr Lupin proclaimed he needed a wand (laser-stick) and supplies. This apparently meant a huge, dramatic argument with Mr Black and Mr Snape being smugly rude until it was decided that Mr Lupin would escort a disguised Harry to a shopping centre called Diagon Alley. And also that he had to meet a bunch of people in a meeting later in the week, for some reason. He didn’t really know how that subject had wormed its way into the argument, but whatever.

Diagon Alley was a fantastical place. It was magical. It was quaint. He didn’t know what to think, but it was amazing and he couldn’t help but gawk a little. It was also obviously affected by their war. One of the shops were falling apart as if it had been bombed and parents kept their children close and some people looked over their shoulders and hurried along in a paranoid manner. Actually, it might be less war and more just a sketchy area, now that he thought about it. Bringing a presumed dead famous person to the main street or uptown would probably be a bad idea. Kudos to Mr Lupin for that type of forethought. 

They began in the bank, Gringotts, which was huge and looked straight out of Rome with the large white pillars and an intimidating exterior (and interior). The creatures who guarded it and worked there were called goblins and Mr Lupin was a bit magic-racist against them when whispering to Harry, but seemed perfectly polite towards them to their faces. It was extremely uncomfortable.

“Careful, they’re nasty creatures who’ll gladly strip you of all your coin,” Mr Lupin had whispered, and then proceeded to politely ask to be escorted to ‘Mr Potter’s trust vault’. While the goblin hadn’t exactly looked friendly, Harry thought it was rude to generalise like that when Mr Lupin was supposed to be a good guy in the racism war. Also, that sounded like literally any other banker Harry had ever met or heard of or seen in a movie, and the whole race of goblins couldn’t all be bankers. That would be absurd. 

After a rollercoaster ride of death, gawking at piles of riches that looked straight from a pirate’s treasure, and a rollercoaster ride of death back up, Harry felt completely out of his depth and disoriented. He followed behind Mr Lupin like a duckling as they bought books and herbs and disgusting organs (for potions) and other such things until he felt settled enough to talk again.

“Mr Lupin?” He asked.

“As I’ve said, call me Remus. But yes, Harry?”

“Why do you have the key to all my money?”

Mr Lupin smiled at him with his gentle, friendly smile and said: “Headmaster Dumbledore gave it to me for this trip.”

Harry frowned. “Why did a Headmaster have my key?”

“He kept it safe for you while you were in the muggle world.”

Harry found this extremely suspicious but decided not to question it right now. Mr Lupin obviously found this perfectly normal. Maybe it was a wizard thing. “Can I have it now?”

Mr Lupin blinked. “Well, I guess I don’t see why not…” He handed Harry the key.

He let his fingers trace around the key reverently. He was rich now. For real. 

After getting fitted for robes (goth dresses, a bit like the one Mr Snape favored) and having bought a trunk and filled it with various things that were apparently completely necessary, they sat down to eat ice cream. It made Harry quite pleased with the trip. Ice cream was delicious. 

“Mr Lupin?”

Mr Lupin sighed. “Yes, Harry?”

“You knew my parents, right?”

Mr Lupin looked up at him now, giving him his full attention. “That’s right.”

Harry spent a moment carefully licking all the ice cream from his spoon, not meeting Mr Lupin’s eyes. “So, do you know where they were, like, from? ‘Cause I’m pretty sure I’m from, like, the Middle East or India or something, right?”

“Oh, Harry,” Mr Lupin said sadly, and Harry instantly regretted asking. “Your mother was from England, you have her eyes. Your father’s family was from India.”

Harry instantly looked up at Mr Lupin. “Really? Which part of India?”

“Uh,” Mr Lupin said. “I think they spoke Gujarati?”

“Cool,” Harry breathed. They ate in silence for a while, a small smile on Harry’s face.

“Okay, Harry. All we need now is a wand,” Mr Lupin said as they left Florean Fortescue’s Ice Cream Parlour. “Normally, you’d go to Ollivander’s, everyone gets their wands there, but,” Mr Lupin gestured to the bombed-looking store. 

Harry blinked at the store. It’s not that he didn’t feel sad that someone’s livelihood and maybe even life had been lost, but he felt none of the bone-deep sorrow that dripped from Mr Lupin’s voice. 

Harry was ushered along to an offshoot of the shopping street they had been going up and down all day. It was dark and grimy in comparison to Diagon Alley and the clientele was distinctly more sketchy looking and diverse. He at once felt more at home. He hadn’t exactly been living the suburban nor uptown life before all this magic nonsense. These were much more his type of person. Presumably. It was hard to say with these magic types, he had learnt. Anyways, the real culture was never found in main shopping districts, those were mostly for tourists and the idol rich. Real culture was in the graffiti and side streets filled with art and thrift shops, a wandering culture that was constantly moving to escape gentrification. He looked around in interest as warty, wrinkly old women peddled jewellery with charms for love and protection. Dark store fronts filled with antiques. What looked like a used bookstore. A pet shop with distinctly weirder pets than the one on Diagon Alley. Mr Lupin had to pull him along because he kept stopping to look. Finally they came to a nondescript storefront without windows and only a sign that said  _ Wands _ . Not very creative, but quite to the point.

A bell jingled when they entered, though ‘jingled’ might be a bit misleading as the sound it made was more like if a dying cat’s screams were just a tad more lyrical. 

A middle aged man sat behind a counter and behind him were racks and racks of thin, long boxes, that were colour coded. He looked up at them from the magazine he had been reading. “Can I help you?”

Mr Lupin cleared his throat. “This young man here is looking for his first wand, and well, since Ollivander’s burnt down.”

The man snorted. “Ain’t he a little old for his first wand?”

Mr Lupin’s lips pressed together. “It was a technical mistake, but yes.”

“First wand,” the man rolled his eyes. “Sure. What type of wood and core is his usual wand?”

“I told you. It’s his first wand. But his parents had a willow, swishy and mahogany, pliable. I don’t know the cores,” Mr Lupin was sounding quite strained. 

The man hummed and sent a seemingly sentient measuring tape to measure all manner of strange parts of Harry. After looking through his selection he nodded thoughtfully and beckoned Harry over. They were standing by a rack that was green along the frame and had a multitude of coloured shelves. “These, green, are mahogany,” he then gestured to a different rack. “Those there, blue, is willow. We’ll start with a few different ones from each to place you.”

There was then a lot of waving sticks and having different, mostly destructive, things happen. After a while the man had narrowed it down to a few different cores and banned him from mahogany and willow. He started asking Harry weird questions about his interests and favourite subjects, saying it was extremely necessary to hasten up the process. He also asked about his career plans, which was super awkward. He hated adults asking about his career plans. All this while making him wave seemingly random wands. Finally he found one that just felt right when he held it. A glow seemed to emanate from his skin and when he waved it white flowers rained out the tip. It was beautiful. Harry let his fingers trace the carving on the handle, which was inlaid with some type of sleek stone. The man nodded thoughtfully.

“That’s the one. Cherry wood, you’ve got there. And for the core is the ash of an ashwinder. That inlay in the carving is obsidian.”

Harry nodded without paying too much attention as he was quite fascinated with his wand. It almost felt disrespectful to have ever considered these things laser-sticks. He had to be prompted by Mr Lupin to pay and then he refused to put it in his pocket when they exited the store so they had to go back in and buy a wand holster so he could keep it on his arm, where he could feel it against his skin. 

They were leaving the side street when they passed the strange pet shop again and Harry stopped in his tracks, making Mr Lupin walk right into him. He heard a voice. A snake voice.

“ _ Help! Help! Unhand me, human scum! _ ”

Harry entered the pet shop determinedly, Mr Lupin hurrying to catch up with him. The snake continued to yell for help and insult whoever had it. Then Harry saw it. The snake was thrashing as it was being held in a fist by a gaunt looking man. He was examining the snake’s scales with a glint in his eye, ignoring the snake’s distress. Harry walked up to him and took ahold of the snake, in a more humane manner, making the man drop his hold in surprise. 

“I was looking at that!” The man said, outraged. 

“I want it,” Harry said, stubbornly. The snake was hissing about how it didn’t need to be saved, as it had had the situation under complete control, and was in fact about to escape the human scum. It then proceeded to insult Harry for being human scum, and the snake could definitely take him, if it wanted to. Harry was about to hiss at it to shut up, but was interrupted by Mr Lupin. 

“Harry, you can’t have a snake.”

“Ha!” The man exclaimed. “There you have it! Hand it over, boy.”

Harry hugged it to his chest. “You were hurting it.” He then looked to Mr Lupin, “And I want it, it’s my money.”

Harry confidently strode to the counter, but secretly hoped Mr Lupin wouldn’t press the issue. The man grumbled and left the store, leaving Mr Lupin looking a bit at a loss. Harry paid for his snake and a vivarium, deciding to get some food for it as well. 

When they were leaving the store Mr Lupin looked at the snake and then Harry, and then the snake again. “That’s not on the approved list of pets for Hogwarts, Harry. And Sirius might not want a snake in his house. Are you sure you can’t return it to the store?”

Harry’s eyes lit up. “But you can bring  _ some  _ pets to Hogwarts? Then I’ll definitely be able to convince them to bring my snake.”

“What? Harry, no. You can’t have a snake,” Mr Lupin tried again.

“Why not?”

“Harry,” Mr Lupin began with a sigh. “You can have a different snake, then. That is less dangerous. Or maybe an owl instead? That’s more practical. A toad, perhaps? You know cats are much more snuggly.”

Harry gave Mr Lupin a strange look. “I like  _ this _ snake. And other pets don’t talk back. They’re boring.”

Mr Lupin’s mouth opened but no sound came out. “Talk back?” He sounded faint.

Harry gave him a look that he hoped conveyed ‘yeah, duh’. Mr Lupin then took Harry’s arm and hurried him along to a designated teleportation spot and teleported them back to Grimmauld Place. Harry was quite miffed at the rough treatment, but decided not to comment on it. He had almost forgotten that he had been sort of kidnapped by this man. It wouldn’t do to be too much of a pain, if they decided to treat him more like a prisoner. 

Mr Lupin sat Harry down by the kitchen table, still clutching his snake who was now complaining at length about teleportation, and Harry silently agreed. It  _ did _ feel like eating oneself, assuming you were tubeformed, like a snake. Mr Black was at the table drinking tea, and looked at them when they entered. Mr Snape wasn’t normally around much, preferring to keep to his room or the potions lab, so it was no surprise they were otherwise alone. 

“Harry,” Mr Lupin said, voice serious and hands resting heavily on Harry’s shoulders. “You can talk to snakes?”

Mr Black squawked and spit out some tea, choking a little. Harry and Mr Lupin glanced at him, before facing each other again.

“Yeah?” Harry had been so sure it was a wizard thing, but now he thought it might be a Freaky Harry thing. Not good.

Mr Lupin and Mr Black shared a long look. “Listen, Harry,” Mr Lupin said. “You can’t tell people this, okay? It is considered a Dark skill. It is associated with He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named.”

“But I can’t help it!” Harry said. “No more than I can help having magic!”

Mr Lupin pressed his lips together and finally let go of Harry’s shoulders. Mr Black sat down beside Mr Lupin. “It’s important, Harry. At least consider it.”

Harry nodded slightly, then grabbed his bags and trunk and snake and left for his room. He was feeling disconcerted, but he couldn’t quite place why. Keeping his snake-talking secret was nothing new. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I would love any type of feedback, positive or negative! Or just a smiley! :)


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for all your comments! I recently got a job that is very taxing so I really needed that extra motivation to get you guys this chapter.

Meeting the Order of the Phoenix was a whole ordeal. Also, it was disappointing how  _ not _ like knights they were, when they were named the  _ Order _ of the Phoenix. There wasn’t even a phoenix, though he was assured their leader had one at Hogwarts. 

The Order was a strange mix of individuals all squished together around the kitchen table at Grimmauld Place (aka Might Be Harry’s New Home, But They Were Sort Of Unclear About It, aka The Place In Which Harry Was Sorta-Kidnapped To). At the head of the table sat Albus Dumbledore, Headmaster of Hogwarts, Owner of a Phoenix, The Only Person Here With Elbow Room. He looked like some sort of all-season Santa Clause. Harry was sort of standing awkwardly off to the side behind his babysitters (Mr Black and Mr Lupin) and behind him in the corner Mr Snape was loitering in a somewhat intimidating way. Everyone was staring at him. Which was fair, seeing as he was here for the sole purpose of meeting them, but still extremely awkward. 

“Uh, hi,” Harry decided to say. This seemed to trigger something in the adults that made them murmur and whisper and honestly: gossip like a gaggle of twelve year old girls-

“It’s really him.”

“Harry Potter.”

And so on, and so forth.

Finally, Mr Dumbledore cleared his throat and the rest of the Order quieted down again. “Harry, my boy,” he began. “I do not think you can comprehend the joy we all feel in finding you safe and sound, and with family once more.”  
Harry shifted awkwardly from foot to foot. 

“It is truly a momentous occasion,” Mr Dumbledore continued. “Our hero, the Chosen One, believed dead and among us once more.”

Harry kind of wanted to hum noncommittally, but remembered he was there for propaganda purposes and hoped he looked properly heroic or tragic or whatever even if he didn’t say anything. It didn’t take long before he was ushered out of the kitchen, by the request of a plump woman with red hair, who claimed he was a little boy and needn’t listen in on adult matters like war. This seemed extremely counterproductive to the objective, which was parading him around as a war hero, but who was Harry to plan their PR. 

Harry sprawled across his bed. He wondered what the Order was talking about that was so secret. It’s not like he had anyone to gossip with, nor anyone to share any information with, really. Maybe he should write a letter to Jonathan. Or was that too clingy? He knew Jonathan was very much not in love with Harry, but he was the only person he’d ever buggered and even if they were friends with benefits more than anything Harry did spend most of his time with him. Maybe he should write a letter to Jonathan under the guise of writing to Mr Freckles. Harry looked to his bedside table, where he had placed his vivarium after they had gone home from shopping yesterday. He had yet to really talk to his snake, and figure out a name. He had decided to let it get settled in first. Mr Freckles had a weird reaction the first time Harry spoke to him.

“ _ Hello, snake. My name is Harry Evans.” _

The snake reared up and stared at Harry.  _ “You speak!” _

Harry nodded solemnly.  _ “Yes. Not many humans do, but I’ve been told that there is at least one other.” _

_ “By Shesha! Why I’ve never seen anything like it! You must truly be the most knowledgeable human around. I demand you become my familiar at once!”  _ The snake hissed decisively as it masterfully escaped the vivarium and slithered onto the bed and ontop of Harry’s chest. 

_ “I don’t know how to become a familiar, but I’m sure we’ll figure it out. Do you have a name?” _

_ “I am called The Second to Hatch Whom Is Mostly Yellow.” _

Harry nodded thoughtfully.  _ “That’s a bit long in the human language. What about if I nickname you Mr Gold, because I think you look more gold than yellow.” _

The Second to Hatch Whom Is Mostly Yellow swayed a little in contemplation.  _ “That is acceptable. And I have turned more golden since I hatched from my egg. I was mostly yellow then, you see. Yes, I think I quite like this name.” _

Harry smiled. “ _ That’s great Mr Gold. You know, I have a friend, a snake of course, called Mr Freckles. He lives with my human friend Jona-Taj.” _

_ “Whatever _ ,” Mr Gold said and curled up to sleep. 

Mr Dumbledore, and Mr Snape, Mr Lupin, and Mr Black, all seemed slightly dismayed when the Order meeting was finished and they had come up to have a talk about pet regulations and Hogwarts. Apparently, Harry had successfully become Mr Gold’s familiar (he had no idea how, he hadn’t done anything), though the adults said it was Mr Gold that was Harry’s familiar. Harry decided not to be fussed, they could be each other’s familiar. But apparently, to Harry’s delight, this meant pet regulations were overruled and Mr Gold could come with Harry to school. 

“But it’s a Drought Serpent!” Mr Black whined, quite immaturely, if you asked Harry. “That thing’s practically going to grow into a dragon!”

This delighted Harry even more. “A dragon? How awesome!  _ They say you’re a dangerous Drought Serpent that’ll practically grow into a dragon!” _

Mr Gold sniffed. “ _ Why, yes. I am descended of Vritra after all. But I am more serpent than dragon.” _

_ “Cool,” _ Harry breathed. 

Mr Dumbledore then decided to completely change the subject, “We have decided it is too dangerous for you to take the Hogwarts Express, my boy, so you will be apparated to Hogwarts. It will be done by Remus here, who’ll take you there in three apparitions, for both safety and because it is a bit far.”

Mr Lupin smiled and hesitantly patted his shoulder, the one furthest from Mr Gold. “Alright, Harry. On the first, I’ll apparate you straight to the gates and walk you up, then I’ll leave you in the safe hands of the Hogwarts’ staff. There’s no place safer than Hogwarts.”

Hogwarts was a magnificent castle, and really why was Harry even surprised at this point. He stood awkwardly with a group of eleven-year-olds that were all staring alternatively all around them or at him, as the only non-eleven-year-old in the room they had been deposited at. One particularly snobby looking eleven-year-old went right up to him, stared a little and then asked; “Are you Harry Potter?”

“My name is Harry Evans. But yes,” he had replied. 

“You’re supposed to be dead,” the child told him imperiously with all the conviction of someone quite young who has not yet learned such things as nuance, nor subtlety, and definitely not tact. Not that there was typically a lot of nuances on the subject of being dead.

“Well, I’m not,” Harry pointed out. “Who are you then?”

“Fawley. Grim Fawley,” he replied. 

“M’kay,” Harry said. “Nice to meet you.”

Grim Fawley was not particularly impressed at not being given more recognition than that, it seemed. His face screwed up in a grimace and he huffed as he left Harry alone to talk to another eleven year old, whom he had been chatting to before approaching Harry. It was around then that the uptight looking lady – McGonagall, who had left them in the room – came back to usher them into the Great Hall. And great it was. Harry had a sudden, intense feeling of being a beggar in the tenth century being brought before the king to be judged for stealing bread or some such and spending the rest of his short life as a slave.

He stood awkwardly, as a lonely, slightly bent, tree in the middle of a field, as he was much taller than the first years. They were then quartered off to the four tables of staring students by a talking hat, but at this point Harry had stopped being dumbfounded by the mad shite in his life. He wasn’t sure what to think when they passed both the Es (for Evans) and the Ps (for Potter) without calling him up. On one hand, he appreciated not being lumped in with the first years, on the other hand, he didn’t like how he was being singled out. Starting in a new school was rough enough without being paraded around, he knew that from the new students his old school had sometimes gotten. It was as if some teachers got joy out of presenting fresh meat and dropping as much blood in the water as possible before leaving the poor sods to their peers. And that was just in front of a class! Here he was in front of a whole bloody school! He took a deep breath and flexed his sweaty hands. It was going to be fine, he resolutely told himself. This was probably for some juicy, shock-factor propaganda.

When the last first year made her mad dash for the red table – Gryffindor, with the lion mascot – the whole school shifted their attention to him as he stood in the middle of the Hall, the perfect spot for being ogled by as many strangers as possible. Professor McGonagall cleared her throat. “We have a new student with us this year at Hogwarts. He will be tentatively joining the sixth years. Now, please come be sorted; Potter, Harry.”

Harry felt like rolling his eyes, but refrained since he was being thoroughly judged and didn’t want to begin any sort of bad reputation already. As he walked up to the little stool he told Professor McGonagall that he was actually, legally, and preferably, named Harry  _ Evans _ . He didn’t really wait for an answer to that before putting on the hat. It was a little big, but not so bad. He really hoped none of those first years had lice. Schools were always infected with lice and he could just imagine it being an epidemic in this school if they started every year off with hat-sharing between the age group most likely to have lice. 

“I assure you, I am not infected with lice,” a small voice said, sounding somewhat offended. 

“Oh there’s no shame in lice! The shame is in not admitting it,” Harry assured the hat insincerely. What a douche-hat. 

“Hmm,” the hat said. “And I thought Sorting first years was bad. Well, let’s see what we have here. A tricky one. Self-sufficient type, aren’t you? And determined, when it strikes your fancy. Not a bad mind, but learning is more of a means to an end, hm?”

“I guess,” Harry whispered. He was suddenly feeling a bit discomfited. This was like a personality quiz where you couldn’t even lie to yourself! And the answer wasn’t private! It was sort of an invasion of privacy. Actually it was very much an invasion of privacy. “Can we get this over with?”

“Of course, of course. You don’t like attention do you? Now, do you have a preference, yourself?”

“Not really. I guess the snake one? I like snakes.”

“Just the one I was thinking,” the hat seemed to find this highly amusing and was laughing in his head before it announced to the rest of the Great Hall: “SLYTHERIN.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'd love it if you commented (and kudos'd of course!) - also, I was wondering if you want to see the rough timeline I made of how the last five years of Hogwarts went without Harry being there, or if you just wanted to guess from what is mentioned or alluded?


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> okay so I put a rough timeline in the end notes that you can ignore if you'd rather not know!

Harry Evans pulled off the hat, abruptly silencing its creepy cackling from his mind. He then proceeded to the Slytherin table, though he was momentarily distracted by how cool it was that his clothes were changing colours. Where before there had been grey, it was now green. He noticed that it was pretty quiet, compared to the cheering from when the first years were sorted and when he looked around the hall most people were staring at him. Some looked quite horrified. Some looked delighted, in the way one is when watching an overdramatic soap or some terrible reality tv that you would never admit to being emotionally invested in, but you are. Suddenly, the Slytherins decided to applaud. They were surprisingly boisterous about it, enthusiastic even. On level with the red-and-gold ones, who had been more into the sorting than any other house. And who were quite quiet at the moment. Then again, it was a quite smug enthusiasm Slytherin had for Harry, but he decided that that must be because he was some sort of celebrity. He  _ was  _ here to utilize his apparent stardom for propaganda after all. He sat with the snobby eleven-year-old, Grin Falley or something, who clapped and nodded at him as if he was a very knowledgeable businessman (child) who approved of their partnership, but it looked quite ridiculous on the little boy. When Mr Dumbledore finally managed to quiet the Slytherins he said a few nonsense words before food appeared on the table. And not just food. But mounds of food. Absolutely mad amounts of food. 

“So –,” whatever Grin Falley was about to say was immediately interrupted by a haughty looking boy around Harry’s age. 

“You needn’t sit with the firsties, Potter. You are, after all, a sixth year, like myself. Come, sit with my friends and I, I insist.”

“Uhm, sure,” Harry said. He would quite prefer to make friends his own age, you see, and not eleven year olds. “But I am technically a first year, since this is my first year, you know? I have no idea how they expect me to keep up in classes.”

Academic angst is a relatable and friendly topic, Harry had decided on the way to Hogwarts between throwing up from teleportation sickness. Perfect strategy for making friends. The boy waved him along and sat him down by some equally haughty looking blokes and a girl with unfortunate magenta eyeshadow. The first boy imperiously held his hand out and Harry shook it. “I’m Draco Malfoy. This is Gregory Goyle, Vincent Crabbe, Theodore Nott and Pansy Parkinson. We’ll help you fit in here, tell you how the wizarding world works.”

“Cool, thanks, mate,” Harry said and served himself some food. 

“First thing you simply must know is that in Slytherin we pride ourselves with our superior bloodlines. And you needn’t worry, being the last Potter and a celebrity back from the dead far outweighs your mudblood mother. Of course –,” Draco Malfoy was well on his way to a longer monologue it seemed.

“Wait, wait, wait. That sounds kind of racist. Also I’m actually named Harry Evans, you know.”

Draco Malfoy got a pinched looking frown on his face, as if he was quite offended and a bit confused. “Racist?”

“Yeah,” Harry said, wondering if Malfoy was a bit soft.

“What is that?”

Harry blinked. “Oh, wow. Uhm, how do I even begin? Discrimination based on race?”

Malfoy made a face as if he totally got it now, but then he opened his mouth. “I have no problem against most races, I’ll have you know. Of course, I find dangerous ones unsuitable for around children – like werewolves and half-giants – but a bit of veela blood here and a bit of a little something-something there is really quite fine. And did you know our Head of House personally knows Sanguini, the vampire? And my father has always taught me to respect goblins, the finest bankers in the world, they are.”

Harry pressed his lips together. “Not those races.”

Malfoy was more confused than ever and his friends, who had been strangely silent throughout their conversation, looked just as confused. 

“I’m talking about, like, white supremacism, and stuff.”

Malfoy narrowed his eyes and said carefully, “Like pureblood supremacism?”

“I guess. Racists are always on about keeping their blood clean and how they deserve better because of their skin colour.”

“ _ Skin colour? _ ” Pansy Parkinson of unfortunate magenta eyeshadow asked.

Malfoy nodded thoughtfully. “That must be a muggle thing. No, I am not a racist, for I have no opinion on skin colour. However, I will not deny that wizardkind should stay separate from muggles. And those mudbloods trailing in their weird ways, influencing us with their  _ racistism _ .”

Harry stared a little while chewing a piece of delicious steak. He highly doubted Malfoy had no opinions on skin colour ‘cause all his friends were white. Maybe they just didn’t have the theories to recognize and address racism. He’d even take that they might have  _ less _ of it due to isolationism and other inequality issues. But none was ridiculous, they lived in Great Britain. British ethnocentrism was pretty infamous. Maybe he should have paid more attention in sociology. Or maybe he should have done some debate. He was not qualified for this conversation and did not have near enough facts. Also this guy did not seem opposed to  _ pureblood _ supremacism, which actually Sirius Black the mass murderer might have mentioned now that he thought about it. They were  _ the baddies. _ “I think you might still be some sort of racist or something -ist, maybe something -phobic. I don’t think this friendship will work, sorry.”

Malfoy the racist got red blotches on his cheeks and puffed up a little and looked real ready to blow up, when Mr Dumbledore silenced the Great Hall. All the food vanished as quickly as it had appeared. Harry was honestly a little disappointed. His conversation had distracted him from finishing his delicious steak.

“Students, new and old, welcome and welcome back to a new year at Hogwarts. We have some changes to the staff yet again this year. Professor Snape, as many of you know, is on sabbatical in Africa –,” Harry noticed Malfoy muttered  _ traitor _ and wasn’t the only one. “– But no need to worry! Professor Slughorn, as many of you know as last semester’s substitute when Professor Snape urgently left for his sabbatical, will be permanently taking the mantle as Head of Slytherin and teach Potions. Furthermore, after that unfortunate incident with Professor Vestergaard last Spring, the Ministry has loaned us the new Defence Against the Dark Arts Professor, Professor Phoebus Penrose. We ask that you only contact him with class-related issues as he is also heading a research committee for the Ministry. 

“New students must be aware that the Forbidden Forest is forbidden and that wand use should be limited to classes and class-related activities. Filch has asked everyone to please check the list of banned items on his door as it has yet again been renewed. 

“Now, I believe, it is time to go to your common rooms.”

Everyone clapped politely, though they hurried to stand up and get moving while they were doing it. Harry wondered if anyone was buying the ‘Professor Snape is on sabbatical’ story. Professors usually planned sabbaticals in advance. He’d never heard of an urgent sabbatical that wasn’t stress or health reasons or the Professor being arrested. Even if Harry didn’t know for a fact that the surly goth with a thing for his parents was camping out with Sirius Black the mass murderer, he would still call bullshit. Harry awkwardly shuffled near but separate from Draco Malfoy the racist’s posse as he didn’t know anyone else but assumed they were going the same way. Thankfully, a girl with a badge started calling for the first years to follow her and Harry decided to trail after them instead. So much for making friends his own age.

Their dorm was apparently in the dungeon – not to be confused with the basement where the yellow-and-black students went – and Harry couldn’t decide if this was a bad sign or wicked as hell. Harry stood awkwardly with the first years while Professor Slughorn gave some basic information and sent them off, though he motioned for Harry to stay a moment.

“Mr Potter! Such an honour to be your Head of House, I couldn’t believe my ears when you were sorted. Why, we were all expecting you to go in the footsteps of your parents and straight to Gryffindor, didn’t we? Must have come as quite a surprise for you as well, eh? But of course your mother was always one of my favourites, such a talented witch for a Muggleborn, wasn’t she? I always expected her to go far but then, well, you know, well,” the Professor sighed. “Anyways, as I’ve been told you might be a bit behind we’ll have to get you some tutors, so why don’t you have the young Mr Zabini show you to my office tomorrow morning?”

Harry felt a little uncomfortable with Professor Slughorn’s apparent familiarity with him, but he seemed friendly enough otherwise. And Harry really wanted to know more about his parents, Mr Snape had been annoyingly tightlipped and Harry took everything Mr Black said with a grain of salt as he was a dramatic and traumatized falsely accused mass murderer. “Sure, Professor. Who is Mr Zabini?”

“Ah, of course, you’ve been completely cut off, haven’t you? Stuck in with the Muggles and assumed dead. Mr Zabini! Come over here, for a moment,” Professor Slughorn waved over a boy that seemed to be Harry’s age. He had dark skin and close cropped hair and some smashing cheekbones. 

“Yes, Professor?” Mr Zabini asked, in a bored sounding voice.

“You’ll show Mr Potter to my office tomorrow after breakfast, yes?”

“I’m legally named Harry Evans,” Harry corrected. 

Professor Slughorn and Zabini both looked at him. “Right, right. You did mention that at your sorting, didn’t you?” Professor Slughorn mused.

Zabini looked back at Professor Slughorn, “I’ll take him there, Professor.”

“Wonderful! Now off you go, take Mr Pott – Evans with you, get him situated in your dorm.”

Professor Slughorn left the common room and Harry suddenly felt adrift and unsure of himself. He’d never been the new kid like this. He’d never gone to boarding school. He didn’t know what was acceptable behaviour. Was it different from living in an orphanage? He hadn’t been told he had any chores, so that was different. And everyone was rich. And had parents. Harry realized he was just standing in awkward silence with this Zabini guy, which he seemed to realize as well. 

“Come along, then. Evans,” Zabini started walking towards a staircase and Harry hurried to follow him. 

Having dorms in the dungeons turned out to be bloody wicked. They were under the lake and had windows out into it where a bunch of magical creatures lived and gave everything a green glow. It had the potential to get annoying, but green was a calming colour so it was a good decor choice for a place where teenagers and children were supposed to be sleeping and relaxing. Zabini had showed him the Sixth Year boys’ dorm and how his stuff was already by a bed, and he just needed to unpack, if he wanted. Sixth Years didn’t have to go to bed yet, but the rest of their dorm would probably be coming up soon anyways. Zabini left for the common room again and Harry unpacked a little. He soon returned and began unpacking as well. After a while Nott from the racist posse came in as well, though he just silently sprawled on his bed, seemingly in deep thought. Harry silently changed into his pajamas when he saw Zabini doing so, feeling very awkward in the stillness of the room. 

Suddenly, Nott sat up with a deep sigh. “How was Italy?”

Zabini rolled his eyes. “Like you care.”

“I do,” Nott said, his lips pressed into a thin line.

“Sure. It was fine. Same as always.”

Nott nodded. Harry wasn’t sure if he should participate in the conversation or not. Normally the ‘how was Summer?’ conversation was had with friends you had seen before summer, not strangers, and much less tense. Also, there seemed to be something else going on other than an apparent vacation to Italy and Harry didn’t know if he should ask about it or ignore it. He couldn’t even talk to Mr Gold, since he was sleeping in his vivarium.

“How was your summer, Theo?”

Theo tensed. “Great. My dad had so many guests over. How’s your new step-father?”

“Dead,” Zabini said. He seemed way too unconcerned with that and Harry didn’t really know if they had forgotten he was there. Should he offer condolences?

“Fun. How did this one die? Tragic suicide? Unfortunate accident? Mysterious poison? A  _ stray _ curse?” Nott asked, eyes narrowed. No condolences then.

“A Death Eater murdered him before mother even got to marry him.”

“And his fortune,” Nott muttered. Then seemed to realize something as his eyes widened and he stared at Zabini. “Did you say a Death Eater? I thought the Zabini’s were –,”

“We are.”

Harry didn’t know what the bloody hell was going on but it felt very sketchy. He decided they had probably forgotten he was there, if Nott had even noticed him in the first place. He felt a bit like an eavesdropper. He opened his trunk and took a random book, then closed it a bit louder than necessary. Nott jumped and turned to stare at Harry wide eyed. Zabini looked unconcerned. Maybe he hadn’t forgotten.

Harry sat on his bed and opened the book. It was Charms, he noticed, but didn’t really read anything. 

“How was your Summer, Evans?” Zabini asked, much more pleasantly than his tense conversation with Nott. 

Harry closed his book and put it on the bed. “It was wild. I discovered I was a wizard and that was I way behind in some school I’d never heard of before and then I was practically kidnapped from my orphanage and couldn’t even go to work, but that turned out okay because apparently I have a vault filled with gold. Then I was reading a bunch of textbooks obviously written for children but I guess I learnt some stuff. A bunch of people were real awed by me being alive, which was pretty strange, and apparently a legitimate reason to be awed.”

Zabini snorted. “That sounds quite eventful.”

Harry nodded, going for comically wise and sage. 

Nott seemed extremely unimpressed and sneered at them both. They were interrupted by Malfoy the racist and his two tall mates. They were laughing at something he had said and we looked pleased with this reaction. Harry decided it was time to go to bed. 

Professor Slughorn’s office had no windows, but he had obviously tried to make the cold, stone dungeon more homely with wall hangings and rugs and silk pillows. Zabini had deposited Harry in a chair opposite the large desk and had promptly left. Luckily Professor Slughorn arrived just a moment later.

“Alright, Mr Po – Evans. I’ve spoken with the rest of the faculty about your academic plan. We’ll take this first semester with a pretty packed schedule, and you can get a better idea of the subjects. By Christmas you’ll be asked to drop at least two subjects depending on how you handle the workload. You, of course, won’t be taking as many OWLs as your classmates took last year, but you can pursue more after Hogwarts. Right now it is all about catching up and getting as much of a base as possible so you can take enough NEWTs to graduate in as close to a timely manner as possible. I understand that you’ve already been informed that you will be taking class with the Sixth Years in the basic courses: Astronomy, Transfiguration, Potions, Charms, Herbology, Defense Against the Dark Arts, and History. You have your choice of two electives, which you’ll take with the Fifth Years and depending on how you handle your workload you can take those OWLs next year, even if you are ready to move up with the rest of your grade by Summer.”

Harry nodded. “Yes, Professor.”

“Alright, now let’s get your schedule fixed up, it’s the last one,” Professor Slughorn took out a slip of parchment and waved his wand over it and over a thick book that was opened to a complicated table that looked way too much like Excel for Harry’s tastes. “Have you considered your electives, Mr Evans?”

“I only had a chance to glance over the list, but I was thinking Care of Magical Creatures would be nice. I just got a magical creature recently. And I guess Divination could be pretty cool.” Harry was still awed that wizards could  _ see the future _ .

“Sensible, thinking of your familiar when choosing electives. Yes, just like your mother. She took Ancient Runes and Arithmancy, though.” Professor Slughorn waved his wand over the Excel-book. “Oh, dear. There’ll be a scheduling difficulty if you choose Divination, is there another elective you would like?”

Harry thought about what Professor Slughorn told him his mother had taken. He was pretty sure Arithmancy was magical Maths and decided to go with the other one. “I’ll take Ancient Runes as my secound elective.”

Professor Slughorn nodded and waved his wand at the Excel-book again. “Yes, that’ll fit fine.”

The professor scribbled on a scroll and then on the slip of parchment Harry assumed was his schedule. 

“Now, for your tutors I have some ready. Mr Zabini will be your main tutor, he is responsible enough, has high grades, and doesn’t have any other responsibilities. He’ll do Transfiguration and Astronomy. He’s also continued to NEWT level Potions, so we’ll add him for that as well. Mr Malfoy technically has a better grasp of the subject, but he has Prefect duties and, well, some other reasons as well. Now Mr Zabini hasn’t continued Herbology, so we’ll set Mr Nott as your tutor for that. He doesn’t have any other responsibilities either, worry not. Ah, you have DADA and History with the Ravenclaws, so let’s take advantage of that. I believe Padma Patil takes both of those classes and is responsible enough and she has such stable grades. Charms, we’ll put the older Miss Greengrass, she’s a Slytherin in your own year if you haven’t met her yet. Now, your electives. Let’s see. You’ve been put with all four houses in Ancient Runes, but a Ravenclaw-Gryffindor Care class. Hmm, let’s see it’s probably best if it’s the same tutor in both, of possible, so you won’t be running around between tutors with such different schedules than your own. Ah! Miss Lovegood is taking both and has lovely grades in both. Mostly of extra credit. Alright. I’ve inked it all in and I’ll contact your tutors at some point today so they’re ready for you in classes tomorrow.”

Professor Slughorn handed Harry the slip of parchment, where indeed his schedule was inked in black and his tutors inked in green and blue according to their houses. “Thank you, Professor.”

“No problem, no problem at all, Mr Evans.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That Halloween: Canon  
Harry, age 3: Due to not living with a blood relative the blood protection implodes, but becomes more intense instead of fading, hence no owls can find him.  
"Year 1": Voldemort fails at getting the stone because Dumbledore removed it during Christmas break, when it seemed Harry was well and truly not coming to Hogwarts. Hermione is severely injured by the troll and seeing this, Ron sincerely apologises and has a breakdown in front of her. They become friends.  
"Year 2": The diary gets lost in Myrtle's bathroom and the attacks stop – Ginny is traumatised and no one knows why so she doesn't get the support she needs and her mental health goes downhill.  
"Year 3": Sirius Black escapes Azkaban to hunt down Wormtail, but his grief for the news that Harry is dead sets him off and he is discovered by Remus and they go on the run together near the end of the school year. Ron and Hermione's friendship is weakened when it is assumed Crookshanks ate Scabbers (who ran away to find Voldemort after nearly being eaten by a werewolf).  
"Year 4": TriWizard Tournament takes place in Hogwarts with three champions. It's comparatively normal. The former Death Eaters see a slow but sure strengthening of their Dark Marks, but they never seem fully back to power.  
"Year 5": Voldemort has successfully made a body, but it is temporary and needs constant renewal because he doesn't have Harry's blood. Nonetheless, he is back. Only Death Eaters even know and Dumbledore doesn't even try to tell anyone because he has even less evidence than in canon. Voldemort being alive is revealed during Christmas break. Mr Weasley is killed in the Department of Mysteries and a reporter sees Voldemort leaving the Ministry with a prophecy. The country is in mass panic and Voldemort is full on back to committing terrorism. Ginny Weasley commits suicide, she has been severely depressed for a long time and her father's death is the last straw. Snape is discovered as a spy for Dumbledore and must go into hiding with Sirius Black. Umbridge isn't sent in, as there is no need to discredit Harry and Dumbledore.  
"Year 6" (Year 1): Harry is discovered during summer and attends Hogwarts. 
> 
> I hope you like it, I was a little stuck on how to write Slughorn's interactions! Please comment and kudos!


	5. Chapter 5

Harry didn’t really know what to do with himself after his meeting with Professor Slughorn. He awkwardly loitered a bit in the corridor outside his office for a while before a pretty blonde girl in a Slytherin uniform passed by.

“Um,” Harry began. “Excuse me. Can you show me to breakfast?”

The girl came to an abrupt halt and stared at him a little. Then she smoothed her already smooth blonde hair down and fully turned to him. “Of course, come along, Evans.”

Harry hurried to catch up with her, she was already striding along. “So, what’s your name?”

She turned to him with a raised eyebrow. “Daphne Greengrass.”

“Oh! I know you!” Harry looked at his schedule to confirm his memory that indeed this was his Charms tutor, not noticing a slight stiffness in her shoulders. Well, she certainly was a charming girl. Haha. “My charms tutor!”

He looked up at her and her wide, green eyes. She smiled slightly. “Really? I haven’t been informed of this yet.”

Harry nodded and showed her his schedule. “Professor Slughorn just made my schedule and assigned me tutors.”

Daphne took the schedule and studied it closely before nodding thoughtfully. “I can’t believe he made Loony Luna a tutor. I mean she’s nice and all but really not all there, I don’t think she pays much attention in class from what Astoria tells me. Herbology might be a struggle, but it might not. Blaise is good at his stuff, though, don’t worry about him. And Padma is just lovely.”

Harry appreciated the school gossip and friendly tone, and hoped she wasn’t a racist. Or at least not as blatantly racist as Draco Malfoy. Maybe they could be friends. Objective: Make friends. Strategy: Academic angst. Try: #2. 

“I hope I can keep up even though I just learnt that my powers were magic this summer. And that they come with  _ theory _ ,” Harry said, emphasizing the common fear of students everywhere: theory and methodology work. 

Daphne’s eyes lit up in some sort of excitement that made him uneasy. “You were practicing magic without a wand, no knowledge of the history of wandless magic, and  _ no theory _ , yet still could control it enough so it wasn’t rampant, chaotic, and noticeable to the public?”

“Well, I guess,” Harry said, though he had to admit, “I mean I’ve read a lot of comics and stuff, so the concept that supernatural or genetically impossible powers should be kept a secret from the public and often the government wasn’t really a surprise.”

“Unprecedented,” Daphne said with a gleam in her eyes. “I would love to use you as my Magical Theory project for this year.”

“Uh,” Harry did not know how to feel about this. “Maybe. I didn’t think that was an elective I could choose?”

Daphne rolled her eyes. “It’s a club, technically, so we don’t actually get academic merit for it, which is a complete disgrace and, excuse me, but utter bloody shite!”

Harry discreetly widened the space between them as they walked. She was waving her arms about in frustration. They were almost at the Great Hall, he thought this corridor looked sort of recognizable at least. 

“It’s going to be such an ordeal to get any academic paper published if I end up going that route because I won’t have the international qualifications! And I’m not sure if a full Mastery in Charms is really what I want, since that would limit the general magical theory I want to research! And there is no way anyone would accept any grant requests when –”

“Daph, don’t scare him away. He won’t have anyone left in Slytherin to talk to,” Zabini of the smashing cheekbones interrupted Daphne’s rant. He was standing right outside the Great Hall, apparently waiting for them. Or well. Probably waiting for Daphne, Harry was just a tagalong after all. 

Daphne rolled her eyes. “Come along then, boys. Breakfast will end soon.”

Harry was a little perplexed. How had Professor Slughorn beaten him to the Great Hall? And he hadn’t passed them either. Was it a magic thing? Then why didn’t the students use it? These were the thoughts occupying him while he chewed on his toast, only half listening to Daphne and Zabini – or Blaise as he had been asked to call him – whom were both discussing likely arrangements for classes. Hufflepuffs were apparently the best to share classes with, where Gryffindors were too aggressive and apparently their rivals, Ravenclaws were too eager to be the best (academically) which clashed with their wish to be the best (at everything). It was a strange crash course they had given him on the houses before spiralling off into their own discussion. 

Blaise had just made the point that many NEWT level classes mixed all houses since there were fewer students per subject when Professor Slughorn stopped behind them. Professor Slughorn was handing out schedules and stopping to talk to seemingly random students while mostly ignoring others. He smiled at the three of them, so obviously they were getting a chat. “Wonderful! I see you’ve already made friends with Harry –,” Harry thought ‘friends’ was a bit fast, but they were hopefully getting there “– then you might already know, but Miss Greengrass you will be his Charms tutor. Mr Zabini you will be Mr Evans’ main tutor, and in the subjects Astronomy, Transfiguration, and Potions. Show him around Hogwarts, tell him how everything works, all that. Alright, here are your schedules, have a nice first day.”

Great. Now Blaise wouldn’t be friends with him. No one wanted to be assigned as someone’s friend. Harry would forever be that pathetic new kid who he had been assigned as a friend. Wow. 

“Of course, Professor. See you at Potions,” Blaise said with a winning smile. Damn he was so hot. How was Harry sitting with the two pretty kids? This was wild. Where was the catch? Blaise was beautiful and hot and his assigned friend (yikes). Daphne was charming and pretty, and a little manic about magical theory apparently. 

Professor Slughorn was about to continue down the table when he made an about face and turned to Harry. “Mr Evans! I almost forgot, but you are required in the Headmaster’s office after classes today. Mr Zabini will take you, I’m sure.”

Since both Blaise and Harry had a free period first thing (Daphne was in Ancient Runes) Blaise gave Harry a tour. A part of a tour. A little tour. The castle was huge and there was only time for so much. One thing was certain: Wizards had never mastered interior design. Moving staircases? In a school full of children without parental supervision? It was a safety hazard and a disaster waiting to happen. Harry shared these extremely valid concerns with Blaise while they were waiting for their staircase.

Blaise just laughed. And laughed. He would not stop and Harry was at once very offended and extremely distracted by his lovely laugh and the way his neck was just so while his head was tipped back. Damn. Harry could feel himself warming up. Hopefully the blush wasn’t too noticeable. Damn. Blaise was pretty, well, pretty. And hot. “You’re hilarious, Harry.”

“It’s a valid concern!”

Blaise was trying to stifle his chuckling with limited success, it would seem. “Yes, yes, of course. I haven’t asked, but I’m sure there are safety measures in place.”

Harry crossed his arms and glared at the just-arrived staircase. What if as soon as he stepped onto it it swung to the side, catapulting him down to the ground floor, which was made of solid stone? He took a step onto the staircase. Then one more. Then hurried to follow Blaise who was already at the top of the staircase and was looking at him as if he was about to start laughing again. God, why was Harry embarrassing himself in front of the nice, hot guy?

Blaise had abandoned him with a ghost. Or, well. Blaise didn’t take NEWT History, so he had dropped Harry off in the History of Magic classroom. It was still ten minutes until class began and no one was there yet but Harry and the professor. Whom was a ghost. This would have been bloody wicked, except Blaise had just told him about his own experiences with Professor Binns and now Harry was dreading this class. 

After some mind numbing staring at nothing the class began filling up. Which was a generous way of saying a few people entered and no one else was taking this class. 

“Harry Evans?” A girl in a blue lined uniform asked him.

“Yes,” Harry said, which apparently meant ‘please, take a seat.’

She began taking out parchment and quills and the History book.

“And you are?” Harry asked.

“Oh!” The girl said. “Sorry. I’m Padma Patil, your History tutor.”

“Nice to meet you.”

Their conversation was cut short when Professor Binns began his lecture. It was dreadful. Could a vengeful spirit spread evil through systematically shredding children's will to live through monotone monologue? These are the exciting questions his lecture provoked. 

After History of Magic Patil told him to follow her. It was Defense Against the Dark Arts next and she was also his tutor for that. As they walked she told him to call her Padma.

“I actually hate being called Patil,” she admitted. “I’m already identical to my sister, I need all the individuality I can get.”

He nodded as if he totally got this. “I once tried to dye my hair blue, but the next day it was back to black. Same when I tried to cut it. Grew out overnight.” He didn’t mention this had nothing to do with individuality and everything to do with everyone else dying their hair in his friend group at the time. “Jona calls me a Disney Princess sometimes. Magic hair, speaks to animals.”

Padma looked at him without turning her head, a suspicious tilt to her head. “Speaks to animals?”

“Well, only snakes. But still.”

Padma stopped dead in her tracks. “You’re a parseltongue?” She whispered.

“I guess.” Shit. That was supposed to be secret or something. It was a Freaky Harry thing. Also apparently evil? He maybe should have listened better to that conversation, but he had been so excited to have Mr Gold. 

Padma smiled and Harry realized she hadn’t been smiling before so much as being polite. Now she was full on happy and grinning. “I’m so glad you’re being open about it. Britain has such terrible bias against parseltongue.”

“It’s a Britain-specific thing?”

Padma nodded. “In India there are a lot more parseltongue blessed people, and it is quite an honour to get the gift.”

_ I knew there was racism, take that Draco the racist _ , Harry thought viciously. Out loud he said, “Wow. I didn’t even know that! I just think snakes are neat. And I like having a pet that can talk back.”

Padma was still smiling and now practically skipping as they made their way down yet another corridor (how many corridors are there in this castle?). “You have a snake?”

“Yeah. I’m Mr Gold’s familiar, so they had to let me bring him to Hogwarts.”

“Don’t you mean Mr Gold is your familiar?”

“No, he insists it’s the other way around.”

In Defense Against the Dark Arts, called DADA by the students, Padma and Harry sat down beside Blaise and Padma’s friend, Isobel-Morag MacDougal. They had been casually chatting about a curse on the teaching position for this subject. They were very casual about death and dismemberment of the school staff, if you asked Harry.

Daphne came running in and collapsing beside Blaise. “What are we talking about?” She asked between panting breaths. 

“We were just telling Harry about how Lockhart was killed by an angry mob during the summer to third year,” Blaise said.

“And how Quirrel’s stutter was just terrible!” MacDougal added.

“Not as terrible as his death right before exams – rumour says he had signs of long time possession,” Padma said. 

“Well, I heard he was eaten by those vampires he was so afraid of,” MacDougal said.

“Hm,” Daphne nodded thoughtfully. “Did you tell him Lupin was a werewolf? He left when everyone found out, though. Just missed being fired by hairsbreadth, really.”

Harry was a little horrified. 

“It’s really no wonder Mad-Eye Moody made sure his contract was only for one year, who knows what could have happened otherwise, with the TriWizard Tournament on,” Padma said.

“Like Vestergaard last year,” Blaise said and they all shuddered. 

“What happened to this Vestergaard?”

“You don’t want to know,” Daphne said. 

Harry spent his free period after lunch in the library while the other sixth years had electives. Daphne had dropped him off and Blaise promised to pick him up for Potions, the last class of the day. The library was pretty cool, but Harry was more a comics guy than an ancient tomes guy. He spread his books over the table and began the homework from the classes he’d had in the morning. It was a little absurd to have a bunch of homework on the first day when you’re already severely behind. He had written all of one word (“The”) and it was barely legible because quills were stupid. Okay, so they looked cool, but he was used to pencils and pens and had no idea what he was doing. He was frantically looking up Goblin Wars in his History of Magic book but couldn’t find any more than a passing mention of them, when someone cleared their throat.

“May I sit here?” A girl asked. She was carrying a huge stack of books in one arm and was leaning on a cane in the other. Her hair was unusually bushy. 

“Sure,” Harry said and pulled his books and papers closer, wondering how his stuff had sprawled so far.

“Harry Pott – I mean Evans, right?”

Harry looked up hesitantly. “Yeah.”

“I’m Hermione. Hermione Granger. I’m a sixth year as well, in Gryffindor.” She gestured to the red on her uniform.

“Aren’t you supposed to be at your elective?” Harry asked. “Or did you drop it?”

Hermione blushed. “I take electives with the fifth years. They were going to hold me back a year after I missed a lot of first year when I lost my leg to the troll and then a lot of second year when I was petrified. I refused to be held back, though.”

“Oh,” Harry didn’t know what to say. Apparently the staff weren’t the only ones in mortal danger. Bloody hell. “I take electives with the fifth years, too.”

“What do you take?” She asked.

“Ancient Runes and Care of Magical Creatures.”

“I take Ancient Runes as well. But I couldn’t stand the thought of Care after everything.”

Should he ask? He was really curious, but it seemed super rude. Too late, Harry thought as Granger smiled at him and began reading. Harry went back to his History.

Potions was in the dungeons. Professor Slughorn had tried to cozy it up with wall hangings and throw pillows instead of leaning in to the aesthetic. It was a stylistic choice and also a mistake, because trying to cover it up (badly) made it look like it should be covered up. 

Before Harry could find a seat Professor Slughorn cornered him and tried to invite him to a ‘small get together’ which turned into a ‘soiree’ within the same conversation. Harry agreed to go, because this was why they had invited him to Hogwarts. To be a celebrity face for the war effort. Like Captain America before he did real hero stuff. He had never been to a soiree, though. His previous experience with parties would probably be more hindrance than help. 

“Did he invite you to Slug Club?” Blaise asked when Harry sat with him in front of a workstation with a cauldron. (Harry was a little giddy about the cauldrons, it was somehow even more storybook than going to magic school).

“He invited me to a soiree slash small get together.”

Blaise nodded mock sagely. “Slug Club.”

After being deposited by a gargoyle in an otherwise deserted corridor Harry was at a bit of a loss. What the shite was going on? Blaise had said this was the Headmaster’s office and gestured at the gargoyle before leaving in a rush for some extracurricular or something. 

Harry decided that if the paintings could talk then so could this gargoyle. “Mr Gargoyle? I was asked to meet with the Headmaster after classes?”

The gargoyle did not answer. 

“Mr Evans?” Professor Slughorn asked. Harry turned around to see him and the stern Professor from the sorting. She was called McGonagall, right?

“Hello, Professor Slughorn. I don’t know how to get into the Headmaster’s office.”

“Oh, dear,” Professor Slughorn said. “I did forget to tell you the password didn’t I? No matter we’ll just go up together.”

Professor Dumbledore had an exciting office. Harry didn’t know where to look, it was all amazing and shiny and magical. He even got to see the phoenix! 

“Harry, my dear boy,” Professor Dumbledore said.

“Uh,” Harry eloquently responded. 

“You remember our talk, of course, about raising morale in the fight against Voldemort? That your very existence brings hope to all of Wizarding Britain?”

Harry nodded.

“There is a slight issue, you see. You were sorted into Slytherin. The house has, let’s say, a reputation.”

“Now, Albus,” Professor Slughorn interjected. “Don’t try to put ideas into Mr Evans’ head about my esteemed house. We are extremely happy to have you, Mr Evans.”

Professor Dumbledore sighed. “But it casts doubt on Harry’s innocence.”

Harry choked a little. He was mortified. His teachers were discussing his innocence. He needed to shut this down, immediately. “I just think snakes are neat! I didn’t know the sorting was so revealing. But didn’t Mr Snape tell you about Jona? I thought for sure he would have mentioned it. To complain about it if nothing else. You should have expected Slytherin if it’s about uh, well,  _ innocence _ .”

“Dear Merlin, Mr Pot–Evans!” Professor McGonagall said, her hand on her heart. “Not that type of innocence!”

Harry blushed. He could feel the shame heating him up from the inside and his heart beating too quickly. “Oh.”

Professor Slughorn looked like he couldn’t decide if he should be highly scandalized or chuckling. It wasn’t a good look on him. Harry was too mortified to even look in Professor Dumbledore’s direction.

“Right. Well, then,” Professor Dumbledore said and cleared his throat. “No. We were talking of your magic, and how, well. No matter. We can spin this. I’ll call you up when we get the details sorted out. Minerva, please stay a moment.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, it's been a while since i updated. I don't even have an excuse I have had barely any shifts at work. The chapter just didn't want to get written, and I'm still not satisfied but you've been waiting long enough so here it is. I hope it's okay.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you all like it! 
> 
> btw formatting got real weird for a second when I pasted it from my gdoc to ao3 so tell me if something looks funky

Harry was mortified. Bringing up sex with your professors is a big no-no. Any teacher, really. Harry was explaining this to Mr Gold while sprawling on his bed instead of preparing for what was going to be a busy Tuesday tomorrow. No free periods. Just classes on classes and new people and faces and ugh. He didn’t want to. He was tired and all these new impressions were not helping. And Mr Gold could not empathize with his mortification. 

The snake decided it was time for a nap, and though Harry wanted to join him in sleep he pulled out his Transfiguration book. He had already made a bad impression on Professor McGonagall, but he thought he might be able to save it if he came prepared. He was barely through the second page when the dormitory began filling up with the other boys and he gave up concentrating to just sleep.

“ _ Good morning, Mr Gold,”  _ Harry mumbled, as well as one can mumble while hissing. “ _ Have you been up for long?” _

_ “Yes, but it’s fine. I am exploring the nest. Tomorrow I want to come with you and see the big nest our nest is in.” _

Harry assured Mr Gold that he could come to classes tomorrow and began gathering his things to get ready for the day. He quickly glanced at the other beds and found Malfoy the racist staring at him with a gobsmacked expression. Blaise looked to have been frozen halfway through doing his tie and was staring as well. The others were still sleeping. 

“Merlin’s arse!” Malfoy yelled, waking their sleeping dormmates. “You’re a parselmouth!”

Nott choked on his own spit and Malfoy’s two large mates seemed dumbfounded. 

“Yup,” Harry said and knowing that’s not what Malfoy meant, added, “I’ve already been told that that’s what it’s called, though. Thanks anyways.”

It would be a great moment to leave the room, and epic conversation ender even, but he was not so lucky, as he was standing in his just his pants. He began dressing instead. He ignored Malfoy and Nott’s furious whispers and indiscrete gestures towards him, but it was harder to ignore Blaise leaning casually and quite handsomely, on Harry’s bedpost. Watching him dress. Harry blushed. 

“You know,” Blaise began. “I can keep a secret.”

“I can’t really remember if I was supposed to keep it a secret or if they were just very disapproving, honestly,” Harry said. “Anyways, I already mentioned it to Padma, actually.”

Blaise pressed his lips together. “There is a chance the whole school will know by breakfast then, depending on if she told her sister.”

Harry blinked. “Huh.” And he’d just had a meeting about his bad PR, because the concept of snakes was indecent. This could be unfortunate for his career as a symbol of hope. Whatever. Professor Dumbledore said he’d spin doctor his Slytherin sorting, he could add this, too, probably. 

Herbology was a tense affair, mostly because he sat by Nott, since he was his tutor. Nott was awkward, and a racist, and couldn’t seem to decide if he was disgusted by Harry or if he respected him for his Disney princess animal communication skills. He, like Malfoy, insisted he was not a ‘racismist’. Harry briefly considered asking Jona to send him some sociology or ethnic studies books, but he hadn’t gotten any replies to his letters yet. It was like he was sending them into the abyss. 

Afterwards he had Charms, which seemed to be a good class but he was definitely behind and Daphne said they’d have to schedule a tutor session very soon. He had lunch with her and Blaise, but had to leave them for his electives right after. He had to run the last bit to the fifth years’ Care of Magical Creatures class, since it was outside and much further away from the main buildings than he had expected. It was a Ravenclaw and Slytherin class. A blond girl with long, brushed out wavy hair waved at him. “Hello. You must be Harry Potter. I’m Luna.”

“Hi, Luna,” Harry gasped between pants. “Do you know a Miss Lovegood?”

“No,” Luna said. “But I think most people don’t know themselves, so I don’t let it bother me.”

Harry blinked. Hadn’t Daphne mentioned that a ‘Loony Luna’ was one of his tutors? “Are you Miss Lovegood?”

“Yes. But you can call me Luna, though most people call me Loony Luna,” she said in a distracted manner. 

“Um,” Harry said. He was then saved from unpacking that by class beginning, with a huge, hairy Professor Hagrid. 

His second to last class of the day was Transfiguration and he had a hard time meeting Professor McGonagall’s eyes. Not that he normally met his instructors' eyes, but he became uncomfortably aware of it this class. Luckily Professor McGonagall seemed to be avoiding interacting with him as well, though perhaps she was just the type of instructor to only call on those who raised their hands. The disabled girl with Care of Magical Creatures related trauma raised her hand enough that class could continue without that awkward moment when an instructor asked a question but no one answered, and the instructor stared and tried to guilt someone into participating by eye contact until they gave up and called on a random student. It also kind of made Harry not want to participate, though. He was never good at having to fight for a teacher’s attention. Either it was bestowed upon him or he worked stuff out as well as he could by himself. 

Luna was, for some reason, right outside the Transfiguration classroom when they were let out and she hustled him to Ancient Runes, while talking about creatures she was disappointed they hadn’t covered in Care. She was especially disappointed that they didn’t cover the dangers of Nargles, which Harry had never heard of before not even in muggle mythology. He wasn’t that well versed in muggle mythology, of course, so he might have missed it. He hoped some of the creatures they’d cover would be things he could vaguely recognize from pop culture, so he’d not be completely behind. 

Ancient Runes wasn’t the most popular choice of elective, so it was an all houses class. The disabled girl, Granger? Genger?, smiled tightly at him as she passed them to sit in the front row. 

By the end of a very long day, with too many classes, he found himself knackered, yet sitting with Padma and Isobel-Morag MacDougal. MacDougal was sitting quietly and writing her essay while Padma tried to explain some theory in simpler terms until she gave a sigh of frustration and began explaining some theory they had apparently learnt ages ago, and she couldn’t believe they didn’t tell him about this theorem and that rule before putting him in class. “A disgrace,” she finished her rant. 

Harry hoped it wasn’t him, but the situation that was a disgrace but he wasn’t about to ask. The arrival of Padma’s twin gave him a blessed break from being tutored. His head felt stuffed to the brim. 

“Isobel-Morag,” Gryffindor Patil nodded to MacDougal before dumping books and parchments all over the table across from her sister. She let herself onto a chair and sigh. “Pad, you won’t believe what happened. You know Lavender’s crush on Ronald Weasley? But she knows he’s off limits after the disaster that was the Yule Ball, not to mention his  _ family problems _ . He’s simply not fit to fancy and definitely not to snog! But you know what she did?”

“Snogged him?” Padma asked, half listening, half skimming her paper for mistakes.

“Snogged him! In front of the whole common room! And of course Granger went to cry in our room, you’d think she’d get over her crush since they started drifting apart, really, and Fay–”

Padma held up a hand. “Parv, you’re my sister and I love you but you are interrupting. I don’t have time for a chin wag. I’m getting extra credit for this, I have to take it seriously. I might even get a letter of recommendation from Professor Flitwick and Slughorn both, not to mention even the Headmaster.”

Gryffindor Patil rolled her eyes. “Whatever. Potter, sorry, Evans. How is Slytherin treating you? Have they tried to use you in a Dark Ritual? Are they all Death Eaters? Has Pansy shagged Malfoy yet? Give me the deets!”

Harry blinked. Identical twins did not mean identical personalities. “Is that Parkinson of the terrible, magenta eyeshadow?”

“She does have unfortunate eyeshadow, doesn’t she?” MacDougal mused. 

“Pansy Parkinson, yes,” Gryffindor Patil said impatiently. 

“I don’t know. I try to avoid the racists.”

Padma and Gryffindor Patil snorted in amusement. “The Parkinsons aren’t racist. They’ve been family friends for years, though Pansy is a bit of a bitch when it’s not just us girls.”

“She’s so nice when we’re alone, though!” Gryffindor Patil added.

“So nice!” Her twin agreed. “And she’s always been so respectful about the place of parseltongue in our culture. Her parents actually donated a large sum to Ali Bashir’s campaign to remove the embargo on flying carpets.”

“But she’s still discriminatory in other ways,” Harry said, trying not to clench his teeth. He didn’t know how to articulate the annoyance, the burning knowledge, that she looked at him just like Becky did after she got her skinhead boyfriend putting ideas in her head. She just made him so, so, cheesed off.

Gryffindor Patil pouted. “She is? She’s never been so to me, but I guess she acts differently in Slytherin than with our families.”

What a load of codswallop. He went back to his notes.

Wednesday began with a lovely view of the fittest bloke in Hogwarts, if you asked Harry, getting dressed. Really, Blaise should be getting undressed. Forever. His out of this world cheekbones weren’t the only smashing thing about him. Sadly, the total twit and actual racist Malfoy woke up right then and he was loud and ruining the show. To Harry’s complete mortification Blaise winked at him before departing for the bathroom, presumably to brush his teeth. Did that mean Blaise noticed him looking? Was it a dig at Malfoy somehow? Was it a weird way to say good morning? Harry decided he would never know, because no way was he asking. Instead he got dressed and followed the stream of tired zombie-teens to the Great Hall for breakfast. 

If Harry thought having first period free would mean relaxing he was sorely mistaken as he was whisked away by Luna who kept steady stream of incomprehensible talk about creatures, runes, arithmancy, and divination, but somehow he felt like he had learnt something. Maybe. Definitely that he would have been disappointed if he had gotten to take Divination, as it was apparently a skill that you were either predisposed for or useless at and the teacher “is much too specialized in Delphi style prophesying to be any use at all for a class, Harry.”

Harry nodded dumbly along until he was deposited in front of the greenhouses.

“See you, Harry.”

He waved at the strange girl. She was nice. In Herbology he made plans with Nott for tutoring, who seemed to have decided that he was indeed more disgusted with Harry than awed. Harry did not like the way he looked at him. 

“ _ You forgot to bring me, today!”  _ Mr Gold hissed first thing when Harry collapsed on his bed, well after midnight. He barely had the energy to put his Astronomy things away.

“ _ Sorry,” _ Harry hissed. “ _ I was distracted this morning, and in my defense you were still sleeping.” _

_ “Distracted, _ ” Mr Gold grumbled, as much as one can while hissing. “ _ I’ll show you distracted.” _ Mr Gold then proceeded to stubbornly sit in his cage the rest of the week, which Harry really thought was cutting off his nose to spite his face, despite Mr Gold having no nose to speak of.

The rest of the week passed and by Saturday he was too knackered to make it to breakfast. Thursday had been a fresh hell after having class at midnight the night before and he didn’t recover in time for Friday, another day with exactly zero free periods. Not to mention the tutoring. Every afternoon was commandeered by either Padma and MacDougal or Blaise and Daphne, with Luna finding him at the strangest of times to unload massive amounts of information between classes which he had by Friday evening found to be at least fifty percent conspiracy theories and creatures that even the magical world doubted existed. Not to mention a single, tense hour of Nott trying to get him to memorise plants when there was no space left in his brain for memorisation ending with Nott grimacing in disgust or whispering with Malfoy the racist queen bee, everytime they crossed paths. 

Was nothing sacred? Harry though as a seventh year he didn’t know came to fetch him from the dorms by noon on Saturday. He had admittedly not left his bed for more than a quick piss, but he thought this was acceptable teenage behaviour, especially at a new school, learning new things, in a new world, with new people. And Mr Gold was still ignoring him, which was still stupid and illogical but snakes really aren’t as smart as Slytherins would have you believe. 

When he finally made his way out of the Slytherin dorms he found Headmaster Dumbledore waiting for him personally and the passing students giving him strange looks. If that was due to the yellow robes with flashing blue stars or because the Headmaster didn’t make a habit of visiting the Slytherin dorms, Harry wasn’t sure. 

“Harry, my boy!” Headmaster Dumbledore said, smiling with twinkling eyes. “Come along now.”

Harry suddenly, vividly remembered discussing  _ his innocence _ with the Headmaster. He blushed. He was too tired to deal with his image or whatever right now. Which was too bad because before he knew it he was being led away from the castle and past the gates and onto a podium and, yup, Harry thought, those were reporters. He hadn’t even eaten yet! He just woke up from a nap! If you can call it a nap when you haven’t gotten up!

“Witches and gentlewizards,” Headmaster Dumbledore began, flashes going off from the loud, vintage cameras. “You are gathered here today to finally see with your own eyes that the rumours these past few weeks have indeed been true. The Boy Who Lived has been found alive and well. This is a sign, a sign that has or will have the agents of darkness quaking in their boots. Harry, come over here, my boy.”

Harry, who still felt like he was half asleep despite being awake for at least all of twenty minutes shuffled over to the Headmaster. He slung an arm around Harry’s shoulders and showcased him for the reporters. 

“He has begun Hogwarts, at last,” Headmaster Dumbledore continued. “And bringing together our people in the fight against darkness, by graciously allowing himself to be sorted into Slytherin. Reminding us, that we must  _ all _ band together against the dark!”

More pictures were frantically being taken while they all yelled questions at them, that Harry couldn’t hear because they all blended together into a mess of shouts and roars and pictures. 

“Now, let’s not keep a young man from his day off, even if he is the Chosen One,” Headmaster Dumbledore chuckled in a friendly way that seemed quite out of place for - was this a press conference?

More pictures and shouts followed them through the gates until they started up to the castle. Harry tried to blink the flashes from his eyes, but it seemed an impossible task. They were almost back inside Hogwarts proper when Harry’s brain processed something. “Wait, did you say Chosen One?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I tried to make him seem increasingly overwhelmed and that's why he might seem a bit passive there at the end. I just need him to settle in a little before I imagine he has the energy to really do anything other than go with flow.
> 
> I love all your comments so far! I was dying of happiness yesterday answering a lot of them! I hope you all continue to read even though I am not the most frequent updater, and you're welcome to yell at me if I get too slow (these last two chapters have been a little later than I hoped, I do tend to procrastinate) <3
> 
> Please comment and kudos! I thrive off them!


	7. Chapter 7

Mr Gold had gotten over his hissy fit and was placing himself comfortably on Harry’s shoulders for maximum lounging ability. This position resembled how a scarf might drape around a pretentious university lad who either writes poetry or does photography, but definitely either takes philosophy or psychology. Mr Gold had turned just so, making his most gold-looking scales flicker in the light (which, by the way, why do they use open fire as light? In a school with children?). He obviously wanted to show off and awe the students of Hogwarts, though when Harry teased him about this Mr Gold denied it.

“ _ This is simply the most comfortable position, I am naturally this beautiful, _ ” he hissed. Harry shook his head and carefully placed his bag on his shoulder, under the snake’s body. His dorm mates were all still sleeping, but Harry wanted to get a quick smoke in before breakfast. 

It was blessedly empty in the courtyard so he put a fag between his lips and lit it with an inhale. It seemed that absolutely no one smoked in Hogwarts, so he was almost glad he’d had to go through the pain of cutting down his use during his stay in the house of fugitives this summer. 

“ _ This smoke is disgusting,” _ Mr Gold complained.

Harry rolled his eyes. “ _ I thought you were descended from dragons? Don’t they breathe fire?” _

Mr Gold hissed in a way that might approximate a huff. “ _ Dragon fire is clean and magical, this fire is weak and dirty, like sickness.” _

Harry snorted. “ _ Yeah, I guess that makes sense.” _

They were then interrupted by a girl with blond hair and a yellow and black tie. The house Harry interacted with least, and honestly the ones who seemed the most chill. Which he could respect in theory, but couldn’t imagine getting along with very well. Which was probably mean to think. He was getting in too deep with the magical personality test propaganda. “Hey,” she said.

“Hey,” Harry replied, feeling awkward.

“Can I bum a fag?” She asked. “I’ll even trade you a rolly?”

Harry blinked. So some people did smoke at Hogwarts. “Sure.”

They ended up smoking in silence until breakfast time. Harry put the badly rolled cig in his pack. He wasn’t sure if he was going to smoke it, he didn’t know this girl and she might’ve laced it. When he was about to leave it seemed the girl got enough courage to ask a question she’d been holding in. “Is that a real snake?”

“Yeah,” Harry said.

“I thought we weren’t allowed animals that weren’t cats, toads, and owls. I had to leave my hamster at home.”

“I got special permission because I’m his familiar.”

The girl nodded. “I’ll have to look familiars up, I guess. Five years here and I’m still learning something new about the magical world every month.”

“You’re raised in the muggle world as well?” Harry asked.

She nodded. Then she made a shooing motion with her arms. “Go eat breakfast, I’m going to hang out here for a while.”

Harry shrugged. “Okay, bye.”

To say his arrival in the Great Hall for breakfast was discrete, would be false. He hadn’t even gotten to the Slytherin table before everyone was silent and staring. Mr Gold was very pleased about this.

_ “Yes! Cower before my might and beauty, humans!” _ He hissed smugly.

“ _ They can’t understand you, but I’m sure they are very much in awe of you,” _ Harry hissed.

This made some students gasp in what Harry thought was a bit of an over dramatic manner. Theatrical even. Noise swiftly returned to the hall as everyone and their neighbour wanted to gab about his Patented Disney Princess Skill. It was pretty funny and he got a little thrill over making them all so shocked. He glanced at the professors’ table. Shite, judging by Headmaster Dumbledore’s expression parseltongue was supposed to stay secret. Oh well, that’s what you get for springing press conferences on sleepy teenagers without warning. His face was on the frontpage of the newspaper yesterday!  _ Chosen One: The Boy Who Lived Lives! _

To be completely honest it all felt a little unreal still. Like this was just a strange, momentary break in his normal life. It made it fun to have a laugh and mess with people, ‘cause they didn’t feel permanent yet, and gave him the confidence (or apathy) to be a child celebrity. And talk to Hot Blaise.

“Good morning, Harry,” Blaise said, with a lovely smile. He was so pretty.

“‘Morning.”

“Where were you this morning?” He asked.

“Out having a smoke,” Harry said, shaking his pack of cigs.

“Are those muggle cigarettes?” Daphne leaned over Blaise to ask while Harry piled breakfast onto his plate. It was so fancy, having a full english breakfast available every single day. 

“Yeah.”

“Can I have one to study? I want to see the differences between magical and muggle recreational drugs, potions, drinks, and more. It’s for magical theory, though I might get Muggle Studies credit for it. Did you know there’s a theory that muggle alcohol and drugs doesn’t work on witches and wizards? Or works to a lesser extent? Of course, it’s still a controversial subject as theorems can slide right into the rhetoric from  _ The Greater Good: Magic is Might _ .”

“Uhm,” Harry said, then decided not to answer that and just hand over a cig. His supply was dwindling. He hoped he could get some more in the local village on Local Village Weekend. 

“How do you know the rhetoric from  _ Greater Good _ ?” Blaise asked in a teasing tone. “All of Grindelwald’s books are banned, Miss Greengrass.” 

Daphne pursed her lips. “Don’t worry Harry, I’m not a facist. But I am fundamentally against censorship.”

Harry nodded, feeling a bit dim, but overall glad that he had not befriended a facist, even if he had no idea how borrowing a cigarette turned into assurances Daphne wasn’t a facist. 

“Anyways,” Blaise pointedly said, before Daphne could continue. “Aren’t you going to formally introduce us to your familiar?”

“Actually, I am his familiar,” Harry said. “Daphne, Blaise, this is Mr Gold.  _ Mr Gold these are my friends Blaise and Daphne.” _

_ “Tell them they are adequate companions for my familiar, _ ” Mr Gold said after scenting the air in their direction. Harry translated Mr Gold’s message and Daphne covered her mouth to smile while Blaise tried and failed not to snort.

“Lovely to meet you, Mister Gold,” Daphne said.

“Quite. It is truly an honour, mighty Mr Gold,” Blaise said solemnly, with a twitch of his lips.

Harry smiled at them and told Mr Gold what they had said. Mr Gold turned a little so the light hit his scales just right from the angle Blaise and Daphne was looking at him. 

His classes passed much too slowly and much too quickly at the same time. By the end of the day, when he was waving Blaise off to Ghoul Studies, he had a headache and his back wasn’t feeling too good either with the extra weight that was Mr Gold. It had been sort of funny when the professors couldn’t seem to decide whether to let Mr Gold stay in class or not and just ended up grimacing at the snake and ignoring its presence. Just acting like it was perfectly normal to bring a snake to class was doing wonders. Maybe Lissie from the orphanage was right and  _ if you act like you belong, they won’t kick you out. _ Though that had been about sneaking into the back of the local and stealing tequila. Let’s just say Harry was never drinking tequila again. 

“Harry,” Luna said in her floaty voice. “Dumbledore wanted to speak to you about Lemon Drops.”

Harry turned around to see her approaching from the other end of the corridor. “What?”

“Yes,” Luna said and nodded, as if that made sense as an answer. “He is in his office.”

Then Luna left him standing there, a little unsure if it was an actual request from the Headmaster or if it was just Luna being Luna. He mostly wanted to sleep, since he didn’t have a tutoring session this afternoon after Nott (the racist tutor) cancelled on him, but decided it might be best to check in with the Headmaster just in case.

He was standing awkwardly in front of the gargoyle statue, trying to remember how to get in. He decided it might be like the talking paintings and tried: “Good afternoon, sir. Mr Gargoyle? I’m here to speak with Headmaster Dumbledore,” here Harry paused, to see if it was working. It wasn’t. “I’m supposed to meet Headmaster Dumbledore to discuss Lemon Drops?” 

This apparently did the trick as the gargoyle revealed the magical escalator. Was he really here to discuss candy? Was it a cover for something else? Was he being pranked? At the top, he knocked on the door.

“Come in, Mr Potter,” Headmaster Dumbledore said.

Harry went in and sat in the chair that was indicated. “Evans.”

“Right, right, my boy,” Headmaster Dumbledore said. He gestured to a bowl. “Lemon drop?”

“Uh, no thanks.”

“Well,” Headmaster Dumbledore steepled his fingers. “Straight to business then. It seems you have revealed your Dark ability to Hogwarts.”

Harry stroked Mr Gold. “ _ The old man that wanted to take you away from me. I don’t like him. He doesn’t respect my superiority as a descendant of Vritra. Or the honour I have bestowed upon you by allowing you to become my familiar. Ask him who he is descended from to think he is better than me!” _

Harry thought he probably shouldn’t ask the Headmaster that. Also it would sound pretty racist and elitist in human-language. “I couldn’t really keep it secret. I share a dorm with other people. And it’s apparently quite common in the Middle East and India so I don’t see the problem.”

Headmaster Dumbledore sighed. He looked a little pained in a tired old man sort of way which was an expression you rarely found in orphanages or state schools (though often in fiction and on politicians’ faces on the news). Harry wondered how old the Headmaster even was. “Harry, my boy,” he began. “You have to understand that the only parselmouths in  _ Britain _ have been dark and evil wizards. Like Voldemort and Salazar Slytherin.”

“Salazar Slytherin was evil? The guy who founded this school?” 

_ “Have you asked him yet?” _ Harry ignored Mr Gold.

“A pureblood supremacist, yes. Voldemort is descended from him and wishes to fulfil his ancestor’s goal to purge muggleborns from Hogwarts and the wizarding world.”

“Oh,” Harry said. “Why didn’t they rename Slytherin House so as to not glorify pureblood supremacists then?”

Headmaster Dumbledore looked at Harry for a moment, which Harry took to mean he was at a loss for words because of Harry’s genius. “To stay on topic,” the Headmaster pointedly said. “There are strong connotations to dark wizardry and Death Eaters. You shouldn’t have told anyone about being a parselmouth, it might make people lose hope, thinking you have joined the Death Eaters,” the Headmaster chastised. 

“ _ Ask him!” _ Mr Gold hissed right in Harry’s ear.

“Or,” Harry said. “I can change those connotations by being a good example! Use my powers of celebrity for double-good.”

Headmaster Dumbledore opened his mouth but Harry quickly talked over him. “And you shouldn’t have told them I was The Chosen One!” Harry knew how that stuff went, it was a very prevalent trope in fantasy and superheroes both. “Now they expect me to actually do something! And it’s not even true!”

The Headmaster smiled sadly. “It was to demoralise Voldemort’s dark forces. I know you don’t understand the whole political situation, yet–” that was very true Harry had stumbled around in pure confusion ever since Mr Snape found him “– but I am very willing to give light to some of the finer points of the fight against Voldemort.”

Harry felt himself pause. That would be great. There were no social science classes in Hogwarts that he could use to catch up on ‘the situation’. But he was  _ in _ the situation, so he needed to know something. “I would like that. Sir.”

Headmaster Dumbledore smiled. More for real than the other smile. “Let us begin right now, and I’ll call you up for lessons when my schedule permits.”

Harry nodded. He was definitely failing some other class if he had to take extra lessons about something completely different, but it seemed important so that was just the price. Headmaster Dumbledore then took out a huge as shite birdbath and magic liquidy, gassy silver stuff in a vial, which he poured into the birdbath. 

“This is a pensieve,” he said. “In the beginning what I show you may not make obvious sense, but trust me that this is important.”

Harry nodded, a bit apprehensive now. The Headmaster then told him to faceplant into the birdbath with him. 

Harry was unsure how Bob Ogden meeting an abusive family of parselmouths was supposed to help him understand the political situation, but he could see how one might get a bad image of parselmouths if that and Lord Voldemort were the only ones around. Headmaster Dumbledore did say the lessons may not make sense in the beginning though, so he’d give it another chance. 

He was a little lost as he had been just walking and thinking after his meeting with the Headmaster, but now he really just wanted to find the Great Hall for dinner or even just the Slytherin common room and dorms to hang about and maybe go to bed early. Mr Gold had decided to take a nap on Harry before the meeting even ended and was still snoozing on his shoulders, unhelpfully. A door opened further down the corridor he was walking down and a few people milled out. It seemed to be a club, from the different coloured uniforms and various age groups. 

“Harry!” Oh, there was Blaise. It was probably the Ghoul Studies club then. 

“Hey, Blaise!” Hey, Blaise? How lame can you be, Harry! 

“Are you coming to the Great Hall, then?” Blaise smiled and had pretty eyes and Harry kind of wanted to lick his cheekbones, which was weird. Don’t think about that, Harry told himself.

“Uhm” Harry said. His face felt hot. “Yeah, but I’m lost.”

Blaise laughed. “Don’t worry, everyone gets lost in the beginning. Some still get lost!” He had a great laugh. Really deep. It made Harry smile at him, it was just infectious. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please comment and kudos! I live for your comments! When I'm stuck in the writing reading them gets me back on the wagon! So, it's in your own best interest to keep commenting <3


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you like it and thank you so much to everyone who has commented so far!

Padma and Isobel-Morag were quietly talking while Harry rewrote his essay with Padma’s corrections. Her explanations were really great. History was impossible to understand from Professor Binns because Professor Binns did not have any teaching skills at all, and was a ghost with trouble remembering what time he was in. Why he was teaching here at all when all the other ghosts were apparently freeloaders was the real question.

Luckily they could spend extra time with History, because he was so good at DADA, even if Padma was a bit frustrated at his continued dismissal of the theories. They had agreed that since his practical work was good, they didn’t have to get every single essay up to a ‘proper’ standard, according to Padma, which Harry thought was a pretty high standard. 

“Paddy! Isomo!” Parvarti said, slumping into a chair beside her sister. 

“Don’t call me that,” Padma and Isobel-Morag said in tandem.

Lavender Brown, Parvarti’s good friend, sat down as well. She had a lot of sleek, curly hair and always wore a lot of lipgloss.

Parvarti waved them off. “Yes, yes. I secured some butterbeer for the party.”

“Already?” Isobel-Morag asked, only to be ignored.

“And I secured some firewhiskey. If you get me through the door,” Brown said. 

Isobel-Morag sniffed. “You’re already invited, it’s not our fault you’re terrible at riddles.”

“Help me get in, or I won’t bring my firewhiskey.”

Padma put a hand over Isobel-Morag’s mouth. “I’ll help you in. Bring the alcohol.”

Parvarti turned to Harry. “Ravenclaw is the place to be for parties. They’re the only interhouse ones that students hold, ‘cause they don’t have a password.”

Brown narrowed her eyes at Harry. “Meet up with me before the party. I won’t let you go with that hair. It’s a disgrace. You do know you’re Witch Weekly’s Most Eligible Bachelor, don’t you?”

“Uh,” Harry said. “I did not know that. Also I haven’t been invited to this party.”

“Of course you’re invited,” Padma said. “I just forgot to tell you. I was distracted by your atrocious spelling.”

“Oh, thanks,” Harry said. “When is it?”

That weekend Harry finally sees the village. It’s called Hogsmeade and it’s very cute. In a Hansel and Gretel type of way. He appreciates the aesthetic but also feels like an interloper. Harry’s casual wear did not fit Blaise and Daphne’s. Nor anyone else's, really. Hogwarts students seemed to go one of two ways. One was called Jumpers and Layers. The other Business Casual. In the spirit of honesty there were also Dresses Called Robes, however it seemed it was only a few, stuck up types of people who wore them. Like Malfoy and his Racism Posse. And some adults. The village was overrun by children and teenagers, though, and most adults were safely hiding in their houses. Or there weren’t any that didn’t have retail jobs in this entire village, which was just unlikely. In any case Harry deeply regretted his patched denim jacket. Everyone was staring. Actually, that might be his star factor. He briefly forgot he was a child celebrity. A real teen idol. He straightened a little. Maybe he’d be a trendsetter. Fake it till you make it. He put a cig in his mouth and lit it with a snap of his fingers. Teenagers around him whisper excitedly at this. Yup, it was his star factor. Not the jacket. That’s good.

He spent most of the time in the village staring at Blaise while Blaise showed him around and Daphne commented on the students they passed. Blaise looked so excited to show him around. And the cold wind gave him a cute blush that made his dark complexion even darker.

For a place called Hogwarts, near Hogsmeade, where there’s a pub called the Hog’s Head, there was a disappointing lack of hogs, however. They didn’t even have a pig pen! Neither in the village or on the school grounds! Harry explained this disappointing discovery to Blaise and Daphne on the way back to the castle. “And with such intense rivalries between the school Houses, a combined Hogwarts mascot would probably be quite beneficial!”

Harry’s stomach flip flopped at the way Blaise laughed at him. Daphne’s chuckles didn’t hold a candle to Blaise almost falling down in laughter. 

Next Monday Harry was staring at Daphne incomprehensibly as she went off on a tangent while explaining his Charms homework. Blaise was in Ghoul Studies and Daphne’s other friends, Tracey and Millicent, were writing their own essays and eavesdropping on Harry’s tutorsession. He didn’t blame them, he was sure Daphne had some very intelligent points they could add to their essays, if only Harry had a better base understanding. 

Daphne pursed her lips. “We’re getting nowhere.”

Harry shrugged. “Sorry.”

“It’s fine, you probably need a break,” she looked at him. “I’ll study your wandless magic and disregard for the natural, magical laws that govern all theory work and make magic even possible. Do your snappy fire thing. Again. Okay. Let me take notes. Again, please. Float this.”

That Saturday Harry dutifully stood at the base of Ravenclaw tower and waited for Lavender Brown. She arrived with an armful of potion vials and flasks and her hair was decorated with butterfly clips. “Aren’t these just lovely? Fay Dunbar from my dorm got them when she was travelling in the Muggle world last summer. Did you know muggles depict butterflies monochromatically like this in hair accessories? Is it a new art form? Monochromatic bugs? So exotic, aren’t they?”

“Uh, no. They’re quite popular with girls, though,” Harry said. Exotic? Butterfly clips? Harry didn’t know what to think. 

Brown shrugged. “Well, let’s make your curls pop!” She said with a big, glossy smile.

“Sure, mate.”

It took forever because apparently he was washing his hair wrong and ruining it so first she had to magically “fix the damaged parts” and then she wanted him upside down and put more stylers in his hair than he could count and then she made him stand there, in a girls’ bathroom, with his head down “while the ends dry naturally.” He got a major crick in his neck before she dried his hair with a swish of her wand and a murmured spell. 

Harry looked in the mirror. He had honest to god curls. Ringlets. On his head. What. He touched one and made a face. “It’s so… hard.”

“Crunchy,” Brown said.

“Yeah,” Harry said. “You made my hair crunchy.”

She rolled her eyes theatrically. “Here, dunderhead,” she said and put yet another product on her hands and started squishing it into his hair. “I’ll scrunch out the crunch for you.”

When she was all done he touched a curl again. It was super soft. He pulled it out and it bounced back. He did it again. 

“Come on,” Brown said. “We won’t be late if we hurry.”

Brown then pulled him all the way up Gryffindor tower and made him stand outside their painting-door while she switched out her armful of hair products for firewhiskey. The lady in the painting peered down her nose at him. He pulled at a curl again. So bouncy. Brown came back out with Parvarti in tow. “Let’s go then!”

Padma helped them inside because Brown didn’t even want to try and listen to the riddle, which was apparently how you got into the Ravenclaw dorms. Harry wondered what would happen if you were a Ravenclaw that was just bad at riddles. 

The Ravenclaw common room had a really nice blue ceiling and was round. It was filled with people, mostly Ravenclaws with a few Hufflepuffs and Gryffindors. Harry was the only person with a green tie, at least. Padma had done her hair so it was just as prettily curly as Brown and Harry’s. He understood why she wouldn’t want to do it everyday if she had styled it like Brown did Harry’s, it was a lot of standing with your head bent down. He was a bit impressed Brown did it every day. 

“Brown! I’m quite impressed you use so much time on your hair every day,” he told her, voice loud to be heard over the music. 

Brown laughed. “Call me Lavender! And You shouldn’t wash curly hair every day! I only wash it every four days!”

“Oh,” Harry said.

“What?” Lavender said, louder.

“I just said ‘oh’!” 

“Okay! Do you want some firewhiskey? I’m putting mine on the bar shelf over there!” He nodded and she poured him a cup of firewhiskey before putting her flask on a shelf in a bookcase in the back of the common room that had been cleared of books and was now filled with different drinks. 

Now Harry wasn’t a first time drinker. He’d gotten quite a bollocking from Saint Natalia’s Orphanage’s matron for stumbling home drunk once too many, until he learned to sleep over at Jonathan’s. He was therefore speaking with experience when he told himself drinking a glass – a full glass! – of pure whiskey would be a terrible idea. It would taste like arse, he’d be drunk too fast, there were a million reasons this was a terrible idea. He put the glass up to his lips, drank it all down in five big gulps, breathed actual, literal fire (and a lot of it!), drunk people cheered at his display, and then he was dancing. It took no more than fifteen minutes before he could feel the alcohol. 

Dancing would be a generous description of what most drunk teens did on the designated dance floor, in the middle of the common room. Jumping might be better. Bobbing, perhaps. A few people were grinding on each other. Two girls were dramatically dancing. Actually dancing. Until they were grinding on each other, a few hours later, of course. Harry was currently jumping with a group of other people, who were also jumping. A few arms moved in dance like moves. A single song made everyone actually dance to the steps being directed. Harry didn’t know these steps but tried valiantly to do them. This included “to the front, and back! From side to side! Come on keep going, let me see your sweat! To the side! It’s hot, hot, hot, HOT!” and later a song told everyone to “Do the runespoor!” which he quickly learnt was an absolutely hilarious dance move where everyone stuck both arms in the air (to mimic the two extra heads humans didn’t have) and then shake your face and hands like crazy while swaying in place. People who were too drunk, were prone to go to the window and throw up out of the tower or run for the bathroom after doing this dance. Harry wasn’t one of them, since he’d danced up a sweat and only had the one glass of firewhiskey. Even if it was potent, a few hours dancing was the best way to get alcohol out of your system.

“Harry!” Parvarti screamed and draped herself over him. 

Padma came running over and draped herself over his other side. “You! Need to try this! Harry it’s so good!”

Padma gave him her cup. It tasted really sweet, like caramel. Smoke lazily trailed out of his mouth after. “It is!” He agreed. 

Parvarti smiled. “Have you had a butterbeer, yet?”

He shook his head. 

“We need to introduce you to wizarding alcohol!” Padma cried. “We have to!”

They pulled him over to a sofa where Lavender and Isobel-Morag were giggling and taking swigs of bottles. They then played a drinking game loosely based on Exploding Snap that almost burnt a hole in the armchair Padma was sitting in before they gave up, because they were all very drunk from spectacularly losing. 

“We need to dance!” Lavender said. They all stumbled over to the dancefloor and half danced, half hopped. A lot of laughing and whooping was involved. Padma tied her button down as a crop top and did a dance that probably originated in one of the traditional Indian dances but was much too lewd and just a little sloppy. Parvarti laughed a lot at this and tried to one up her sister, but ended up falling on her arse. 

Harry turned to Isobel-Morag, out of breath. “Where is the bathroom?”

She pointed. 

After he’d peed and washed his hands he looked at himself in the mirror, suddenly feeling very drunk in a wobbly, floaty way while the bathroom seemed to be the only room in all of Ravenclaw that was standing still. He wondered if Luna was at the party. He opened the door and went back to the Ravenclaw common room. He fell on a sofa and took out a cig. He was strategically close to a window he could smoke out of. Maybe he should have asked the hat to put him in a House with illicit smoking facilities. Ravenclaw was much easier to smoke in than Slytherin. He took a drag feeling the itchy burn in his lungs. When he was done he flicked the rest out the window and watched it fall down, down, dow–

“Let’s play a game!” Parvarti yelled, flinging herself onto him again. People around him cheered and settled down. Others kept dancing.

“Truth or dare!” Someone yelled. 

“Dare!” Someone else replied and the game had begun. 

It went a few questions before a redheaded girl, Marietta, dared her friend. “Cho! Make out with Harry Potter!”

“Ooooh!” People said and suddenly a cute girl was being pushed towards him. She smiled shyly. 

“Sorry, Evans,” she said so only he could hear. 

“It’s okay,” he said. 

Then her lips were on his and it was a pretty sweet kiss. He moved his lips slightly and she responded in kind, suddenly going all in. Harry opened his mouth a little and she was quite quick to stick her tongue in. He felt himself tipping slightly backwards and took hold of her waist for balance and suddenly she was in his lap and she moaned just a little giving way for a wave of catcalls. She quite suddenly removed herself from his body and was back to her friend, cheeks pink. While Harry was almost always down for drunken making out he was a bit disappointed in her technique. Going in fast  _ and _ leaving fast was a bad mix. He decided to keep his critique to himself and tried to discreetly dry his mouth on his sleeve. He produced a lot of spit due to smoking, and Cho was a very wet kisser. 

“How was it?” Padma asked, Parvarti beside her waggling her eyebrows. 

“Wet,” he said.

Parvarti laughed. Padma patted him on the arm. “Next time I’ll invite Blaise and dare him to make out with you. And Daphne, too.” 

Harry blushed. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading and I hope you'll leave a little comment, they really inspire me! <3
> 
> Okay, so I was looking something up in my notes on this fic to double check my continuity when I realised I've forgotten to add the original idea that made me begin this fic (wow) and it's too late to add it for it to make sense and too minor to make a whole new fic about later sooooo... wow. I might write a oneshot at some point but if anyone wants to use it so I can read it now where I forgot to write it, it was: Harry Potter grows up in the muggle world due to an error (??) and ends up at Hogwarts at like 16 or something, but because of parseltongue he thinks snakes are mega neat and has a snake tattoo on his forearm (maybe even more tattoos?? - research: when can you get a tattoo in UK legally and/or in practicality), leading to misunderstandings because of the Implications of that in the Wizarding World (Death Eaters).  
I can't believe I forgot to write it in and someone would have noticed a tattoo on his forearm by now wow.


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First off: I am so sorry for vanishing! I'm not abandoning this!
> 
> Things have been.... things. What with the pandemic and rising fascism in the United States (and Hong Kong, and many other places) and increasing focus on racism and systemic discrimination I've really just not been that motivated. It's sort of hard to write something funny when you can't have fun writing and I didn't want to dramatically shift the tone of this. When I finally got some motivation back JK went on her transphobic rant-thing and I lost all my Harry Potter motivation. I've sort of gotten some motivation back reading your comments and I'm just going to post what I have, even if I'm not super happy with the chapter. I'm pretty sure I'm back on the wagon but the length of each chapter might go down and I might edit less, we'll see how hard the rest of this is to write.

The next morning Harry had a hangover. He rolled onto his side with a groan. 

“Rough night?” Blaise asked.

“Ugh,” Harry said. It felt like his brain was sticking to the inside of his skull and his tongue felt dry. As Harry sat up it felt like a wave inside him splashed. A nausea inducing wave. He told Blaise none of this, due to the inherent unsexiness of illness.

The corners of Blaise’s lips slowly turned up. Harry couldn’t even appreciate how dashing Blaise looked with an evil smirk, that’s how terrible the hangover was. “I have heard the Ravenclaws hold quite the parties.”

“Ugh,” Harry said, again. He stumbled out to the shower, Blaise’s laughter chasing him. 

“You’re sort of terrible at Potions,” Blaise commented, surveying Harry’s essay. 

“Whatever,” Daphne said pointedly, snapping her fingers to regain Harry’s attention. “Harry, how would you characterise your internal energy flow while you do wandless magic compared to magic with a wand?”

Harry looked away from Blaise, who was lounging in his chair, which is quite a feat in the wooden chairs of the library. Daphne was staring at him intently. “I guess it’s slightly different? I haven’t really been looking for it, you know?”

“Hm,” Daphne said, scribbling in the margins of a long roll of parchment. She had written everything in a tiny font, so cramped it was almost illegible and she had added extra notes and paragraphs in the margin and in other colours. It was such a mess. “Have you finished your Charms reading, by the way?”

“No,” Harry said. “It’s only been half an hour.” Harry looked back to the Charms book. He had just turned the page when Blaise snorted. Harry looked over at him and was a bit dismayed at the fact that Blaise was crossing over a whole quarter of the essay. He was about to complain when Padma and Isobel-Morag sat down on his other side. 

“Harry,” Padma said. “Give me your History essay.”

Harry fished the essay out of his bag, expecting her to leave but instead she pulled out ink and a quill and began methodically going through the essay right at their table. Daphne spared a polite, murmured greeting to the two Ravenclaws but was too caught up in her scribbling for much more. Blaise pursed his beautiful, soft looking, distracting lips, then went back to Harry’s Potions essay. 

The silence was a bit strained, they didn’t normally all study together like this. Once Blaise gave him back his essay and quietly walked him through his corrections and they all went back to silently working as the tension slowly bled away. 

They began all meeting up instead of splitting off his tutoring times, with some exceptions such as Daphne’s Magical Theory club, Blaise’s Ghoul Studies, and Isobel-Morag apparently taking Art. Daphne had bonded with Padma over knowing Parkinson, but not liking how she acted at school, Isobel nodded along as if she knew exactly what they were talking about, even though Harry never heard her contribute to the conversation. It had just become something of a routine for them all when, in the middle of Daphne and Padma’s quiet, but passionate, discussion on the intersection (and apparent huge difference) between theoretical magic and ancient magic, Parvati sprawled into a chair beside Isobel-Morag. 

“Make room, make room, darlings,” Parvati said, shooing their stuff imperiously as if the books and essays were a flock of pigeons. “Lavender and Neville are on the way.”

“Neville?” Harry asked. It was worth noting that while Neville was quite nice he was not normally a part of their study group situation. Nor was Parvarti and Lavender likely to crash their tutor time when Daphne and Blaise were there for more than a quick word (Harry had noticed Padma and Parvarti often checked up with each other). Harry, who was used to a wide acquaintance group and a small friend group (essentially Jonathan, though apparently he wasn’t as close as he thought since he hadn’t received any replies at all to his letters), was a bit overwhelmed by the whole situation. He was pretty sure they all liked him well enough, but he was starting to get the feeling he might have some people who only wanted to be his friend because of the Harry Potter, teen idol, situation. He was almost thankful for having been assigned studious, no nonsense friends on his first day. No one who had fixed his essays would revere him for his apparent magical genius. At least he didn’t think so. 

Harry was spared from spiralling further into that hole by Lavender sitting down at the table, commanding attention with her sweet perfume and large hair and colourful makeup and nails and butterfly clips. Neville shuffled into the last seat, the one beside Lavender, close to Harry, looking quite shy and a little anxious, the poor sod. 

“Hi, Evans,” Neville said so quietly Harry wouldn’t have heard him if they weren’t in the library where Ms Pince kept a tight,  _ silent _ shop. He cleared his throat. “I mean, hi.”

“‘Lo, Neville,” Harry said. “You can call me Harry, you know? Haven’t I told you that already?”

“Uh,” Neville said. “You might have. Harry.”

Harry smiled, hoping it didn’t come off as too mocking and more just amused in a friendly way. He didn’t have as wonderful control over his face as Blaise, who was an amazing actor. It came in handy when he had just whispered something completely inappropriate to Harry in class and had to look extremely innocent, very fast, because Blaise always made Harry laugh or blush and he couldn’t keep it in at all. Well, and also when Malfoy and the racist posse were being complete arses and Blaise kept his cool like a pro (unlike Harry who always wanted to punch him, or more recently hex him). Harry didn’t even notice he had been staring at Blaise until Neville snorted, obviously having lost a battle with himself to keep in his laughter. Harry could feel his cheeks heating up but Neville just smiled and mimed spelling his mouth shut. 

Harry buried his face in his hands, trying to hide his blush, but he could see Neville shaking with suppressed laughter. Did everyone at Hogwarts know about his crush? Was he this obvious? He pulled his textbook closer and determinedly started reading.

They quietly worked on their homework and readings for a while until they inevitably started chatting about things not related to school. It was the usual routine, really, though the arrival of Parvarti, Lavender, and Neville might have made it into one of their shorter sessions.

“– Neville is great with Herbology, maybe you should have him look at your work since Nott has completely ditched you –”

“– Harry, did we ever tell you about the Defence professor last year –”

“– I don’t know, Professor Penrose obviously knows his stuff, but he’s a bit theoretical –”

“– I read ahead in Potions and next week we’re covering –”

“– And then Parvarti threw up out the Ravenclaw window –”

“– You know you’re breath is much better now where you don’t smoke those muggle cigarettes as often –”

“– and then Malfoy slipped on it and –”

“– Your curls are particularly bouncy today, Lav, have you been using a different hair potion or –”

Parvarti laughed loudly and freely at whatever Isobel-Morag had just whispered under her breath, making Madam Pince descend upon their table. She turned an impressive stare at them until they quieted. Madam Pince pointedly pointed at the exit. 

Harry stood at the base of the moving spiral staircase that led to Headmaster Dumbledore’s office. Or, well. He stood in front of the gargoyle guarding that staircase. He had been summoned for another (probably incomprehensible) Social Science lesson and could not for the life of him remember how he got in last time.

“I am here for my Social Science lesson, Mr Gargoyle,” yielded no results. “I am here for Political Science. Sociology. Probably not Economy, but who knows. Parseltongue context. Voldemort context. To see Dumbledore. To view memories. To discuss Lemon Drops?”

Nothing. 

“Mr Evans?” Asked a voice behind him. He spun around to see Professor Penrose. “Are you quite okay?”

“Uh,” Harry said, scratching the back of his head. “I got a note to see the Headmaster but I can’t figure out how to get in. I’m probably late now.”

Professor Penrose chuckled, which was strange, as he normally only chuckled about very niche puns relevant to his academic field. “Typical Dumbledore. May I see the note?”

Harry handed it over.

“Ah, yes, I see,” he gave it back and pointed to an absurd sentence Harry had ignored as the Headmaster being slightly barmy. “He hides his passwords, but they are recognizable by always being a sweet. Sometimes muggle, sometimes normal. You might have trouble with the normal ones, if you don’t recognize the name.”

Harry nodded, to show he understood, then faced the gargoyle again. “Cockroach Clusters.”

Harry doubted it was a very good sweet.

The gargoyle sprang out of the way and left plenty of space to get on the magical escalator. Professor Penrose stepped onto the escalator and motioned for Harry to follow. Harry wondered if Professor Penrose was going to add something to the lesson tonight, as he did normally work in the government when he wasn’t being a Defense Against the Dark Arts professor. 

“Come in, Harry, Phoebus,” they heard Headmaster Dumbledore’s voice say just as they reached the landing. Inside the office, which was even more distractingly cluttered than last time, if that was even possible, the Headmaster motioned for them to take a seat. 

“Oh, I’m not staying long, sir,” Professor Penrose said, “I just wanted to confirm that I’m meeting with my committee next weekend and will be gone all of Saturday and some of Sunday.”

The Headmaster’s eyes twinkled and he smiled kindly. “Of course, Phoebus. Have you made any conclusions in that report yet?”

“Well,” Phoebus said. “You’ll have to wait for the full report like everyone else, but I can say we are getting to some interesting conclusions. Might even be groundbreaking in how we handle Muggles and the Statute of Secrecy!”

“Oh? How so?” Asked Headmaster Dumbledore.

Phoebus tapped his nose with his finger. “Now that would be telling, but suffice to say Muggles are not as oblivious as the common wizard might like to think.”

The Headmaster hummed as Professor Penrose left. “Now, my boy.”

Harry rolls his eyes at the endearment, too tired of correcting him to mention it. It still makes him a little uncomfortable. He’d never considered himself anyone’s boy. Being an orphan in an orphanage will do that for you. 

“Today we will delve into the memories of –,”

“Uhm, sir,” Harry interrupts. 

Headmaster Dumbledore blinks and then motions for him to continue.

“How does any of this relate to current events? Or my fame? Or politics?”

Headmaster Dumbledore’s lips do something that is hard to decipher, a smile maybe? A frown? “As I have told you, it may be unclear in the beginning where we are going with this. But to understand the present you have to see how we got here –” Harry felt a pang of annoyance, he knew that, but what he was being shown was completely irrelevant “– here being, of course, Death Eaters raiding both magical and muggle hubs, and spreading terror. All in the name of pureblood supremacy. Three weeks ago, on Halloween, a household with a Muggleborn and his muggle wife and squib children were murdered quite brutally and their entrails are still missing.”

Harry felt a cold shiver down his back, he did have a nightmare exactly a week after Halloween about being a skeletal monster bathing in a green bath with entrails floating in it to recharge, as if his body was leaking something because of a missing component. Probably a coincidence, but disturbing nonetheless, and terrible to be reminded of. 

“So the memories tonight…”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please comment on this chapter! 
> 
> Also, I have some other things you might want to also comment on. In light of JKs transphobic rant I realised my story was very cis. I'm not a huge fan of just pasting labels on without it affecting their lives at all, but I'm trying to find a spot to insert something maybe about the magical stairs to the girls' dorm? But I haven't decided who is trans/nb yet so I am taking suggestions.   
There are a lot of problematic aspects to the Harry Potter series and I won't be discussing them all in this story, but if something is really, really bugging you just comment and I can see if it's something I can add in, somehow. I will not be getting into the House Elf situation though, I considered it and realised the research required was immense with what I wanted to do with it.   
I don't know if it's super noticeable, but I wanted this universe's discrimination to seem as real as possible, so a lot of how the discrimination works in this fic is vaguely based off of the three pillars of white supremacy ("Heteropatriarchy and the Three Pillars of White Supremacy" Rethinking Women of Color Organizing, Andrea Smith, from Readings for Diversity and Social Justice 4th ed) - which to waaaay oversimplify is that pitting minorities against each other prevents them from rising up. It's an American theory about American racism in an American society but I think it makes a lot of sense in its simplest form and can be used to describe the intersection of different types of discrimination in several areas.
> 
> That said, I do have this whole fic planned out, so I might not be able to fit a whole lot more in. If you have a bunch of great ideas and pet peeves I might shelve them for another fic, though, so don't be shy. 
> 
> If anything is Yikes, don't be afraid to tell me – we all have unconscious biases to actively unlearn.


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for all the amazing comments and suggestions! Chapter 11 is when I'll start sprinkling in the trans/nb characters, but I didn't want it all to be in one chapter, both because Chapter 11 was already heavy and there just wasn't space but also because it felt weird to have it be all at once <3
> 
> Now, I'm not sure if I should trigger warn on this chapter but let's just say that I'll definitely put a trigger warning on the next chapter and this one is where it begins? If you're worried you can contact me on my sideblog on tumblr sapphicodin (it has no posts right now, i know) before reading! or comment here! anyway, hope you like it <3 
> 
> Also if I just made you worried, let's just say nothing worse than in canon happens in this chapter, but I will treat the aftermath (next chapter) very differently, making it serious and possibly triggering. Does that make sense?

Luna Lovegood was the strangest tutor to ever grace this Earth, if you asked Harry. They were currently hanging from a tree with their knees, like children on monkey bars, making all of Harry’s blood rush to his head. It was also important to note that this tree was out of bounds. Because it was in the forest. Which was named Forbidden for a reason, probably. Luna did not care for Harry mentioning those facts, and had Neville, who was for some reason accompanying them, vouch for the Forbidden Forest being fine. “As long as you don’t go too far in, of course.” But Neville was a Gryffindor, and his mild manners didn’t fool Harry. It was definitely forbidden to be in the Forbidden Forest. 

Important to note: Neville was not hanging from a tree, but sitting by the roots of said tree and picking flowers that looked like small bells and sounded like small bells when they were picked up. Then they screamed while he mercilessly put them in a portable flowerpresser. 

“Are those flowers alive?” Harry asked uneasily. 

“All flowers are alive, Harry,” Luna said in a floaty, chiding voice. 

Neville chuckled. “Right. They’re no more or less alive than other flowers.”

Harry didn’t know what to do with that. He was beginning to suspect both Neville and Luna were batshite barmy. In a good way. Probably. 

“Now hush, Harry,” said Luna. “If you don’t pretend to be a leaf, we will be here all day waiting for the Moon Frogs.”

“Wouldn’t you need moonlight to find a Moon Frog?” Harry asked, relying a hundred percent on the name of the creature, since as far as Harry could find they were only mentioned in Luna’s father’s magazine and not in any textbook in all of Hogwarts. 

“Of course not, silly,” Luna said. “They might eat your second toe if you tried to find them in the moonlight.”

Harry flexed his toes and gulped. “Right.”

It was an unsuccessful trip to find Moon Frogs but Luna waxing poetic about all the creatures people mistook for other creatures miraculously covered Harry’s homework for Care of Magical Creatures. 

“Neville?” Harry asked as they were about to part ways. “Is it possible you could tutor me in Herbology? We can talk to Professor Slughorn and Professor McGonagall so you can get the extra credit the others are getting and –”

“Harry!” Neville said. “Yes. I’ll do it. I was already doing it. We can set up a meeting with our heads of house.”

Harry could feel the heat of his blush. “Right. Thanks. See you, then.”

“Bye, Harry,” said Neville.

“See you later, Harry,” Luna said.

Harry was struggling to get his newest letter to Jonathan be in any way legible. The quill was hard to write with, he kept getting words with too much ink and ones with too little. He made a frustrated sound and threw the quill onto the table. It broke. Jonathan wasn’t replying anyway. He should just give up.

It is worth noting he was writing the letter during class – Ancient Runes, to be exact – because his free time was basically also classes with the amount of catching up he had to do and his friends being nerdy as bloody hell and also his tutors. 

“Uhm,” A voice said from behind him, making him freeze and look over his shoulder. It was Hermione, the other sixth year taking fifth year electives. “Do you want one?” 

“Thank you,” Harry said reverently, clutching her biro. It felt like expensive contraband in his hands. He pulled out a parchment for note taking, crumpling the illegible letter and putting it in his bag. 

On a lovely Sunday morning, Harry was rudely pulled from his breakfast to go outside. Blaise and Daphne had teamed up with the Patils and Isobel-Morag and they picked up Neville and Lavender on the way and pulled him outside. It was nice out, late autumn had the best sunny mornings with the crispness of the air and the crunch of frost covered grass underfoot. Harry almost didn’t mind them all enthusiastically manhandling him towards the quidditch pitch. Was he getting used to being kidnapped with fairly good intentions?

They huddled around him with serious expressions on their faces.

“Harry,” began Parvarti.

“We have been informed of a terrible grievance against you,” Daphne said.

“Terrible,” Padma reiterated. 

“You have never flown a broom,” Isobel-Morag said.

“It’s a travesty,” said Blaise.

“A crime,” Lavender said with a decisive nod. 

“I don’t actually like flying, but I suppose everyone should get to try it out,” Neville said diplomatically when they all faced him expectantly. 

Harry could feel excitement brewing in his stomach. Flying! On a broom! His friends parted and revealed a couple brooms on laying on the pitch. “A few of us will go up with you in case you need assistance.” 

Harry nodded. He was so excited he could explode. He wondered if it was like skateboarding tipsy down a hill with closed eyes. Not that he had ever done that. Totally not that. Nope. That would be unsafe. He fingered a faded scar on his elbow. 

“Okay,” Parvarti clapped her hands. “Harry, watch what Iso-Mo does first.”

Isobel-Morag stood beside one of the brooms, with a hand outstretched, smiling widely and not even reprimanding Parvarti for calling her Iso-Mo. She said, “Up!” And the broom flew into her hand. She mounted and kicked off. She was flying! Harry jumped in place with a huge smile. “Wicked!”

“Harry,” Parvati clapped again, demanding his attention. “Go to that broom! Do as Iso-Mo did!”

“Don’t call me Iso-Mo!” Isobel-Morag yelled down. From the sky!

Harry hurried to his broom and heard a faint cheering. He looked behind him and saw his gaggle of fans – the ones who had never seen his essays and therefore idolised him. Probably due to Harry’s recent standing awkwardly behind Headmaster Dumbledore while he gives updates on Darth Voldemort. Extremely vague updates. Lavender had done his hair all curly that morning and had said he looked wonderfully dashing in the papers a few days later.

It was strange being a teen idol, but somehow it was the day to day that was the strangest part of it all. Not the press conferences and articles that were just analysis of his facial expressions behind Dumbledore in the newspapers and magazines. It was kind of neat being popular, even if he wasn’t used to it and might have preferred being more quietly introduced into this new world.

“Up!” Harry said, dispelling the thought. All thoughts fled his mind as the broom smacked into his hand. He gripped it tightly and mounted like he’d seen Isobel-Morag do. Blaise came over and adjusted his grip, then mounted a broom himself, apparently oblivious to how Harry’s heart rate doubled when they touched. The way Blaise’s warm, uncalloused hands softly guided his fingers into the right positions sent shivers down his spine and his fingers felt warm even after Blaise was on his own broom. 

“Harry, focus on the broom not on Blaise!” Lavender said, to Harry’s mortification. 

Blaise just threw him a smile. “Jump up in three.”

Harry nodded, feeling warm.

“Two,” said Blaise.

“One!” Harry jumped and instead of falling back with gravity he kept going up and up and then someone yelled at him but instinct took over and he leaned in and suddenly he was speeding and turning and flying straight, and turning, and doing a loop. He whooped and yelled. A sudden burst in noise and merry cheering made him aware of the shocked silence he had elicited. He laughed, carefree. It was even better than skateboarding downhill, tipsy and with closed eyes. He didn’t close his eyes flying, though. He’d need a bit more practice in falling before he tried that. Blaise and Isobel-Morag were hovering near him, presumably ready to catch him if he did something outrageous or fell to his death. It was amazing. 

“I’m telling you, if Malfoy’s group didn’t have an iron grip on you guys’ quidditch team, Harry would have been invited to join without even trying out,” Isobel-Morag said, Lavender nodding emphatically. They were all traipsing back up to the castle, hair windswept, cheeks reddened from the fresh air, and legs unsteady from flying.

“For real,” Lavender said. 

Harry shrugged. “Flying with you is more fun than I imagine flying with a bunch of arses would be anyways.”

“Aw,” said Parvarti. “Thanks, Harry.”

His fans had gone rabid ever since the flying excursion. Harry had to run between classes so as not to get waylaid by gangs of preteens and fourteen year olds wanting to ask him his favourite colour and favourite sweet and trying to touch him. It was out of control. Some of them were even his own age and he was pretty sure he saw one or two Seventh years in the horde.

Harry squirmed, sitting in Professor McGonagall’s office. Neville was by his side, and Nott was on the other. Professor Slughorn stood, hovering by Professor McGonagall.

“Am I to understand you can’t learn from Mr Nott’s methods?” Professor McGonagall asked.

“More like he doesn’t  _ have time _ to tutor me at all,” Harry said, side eyeing Nott at ‘have time’, to show he knew Nott was lying out of his arsehole to not get in trouble for ditching his responsibilities. 

“Right, right,” Professor Slughorn said with a wary look at Nott. “I didn’t know you were so busy, Mr Nott. You aren’t a prefect, you get good grades, no extracurriculars.”

Nott was the one who was squirming now, to Harry’s satisfaction. He had heard through the rumour mill (Lavender and Parvarti) that Nott had had a thing with Blaise last year – in an unofficial capacity, but everyone knew. Harry thought Blaise could do a lot better, but hadn’t brought it up yet, what with the tense conversation he heard between them at the start of term. And because he was a bit jealous and didn’t want it confirmed. He could enjoy getting him a little bit in trouble, though, surely.

“I’ve been busy. With family matters. And I study a lot,” Nott said, through gritted teeth.

Professor McGonagall pursed her lips. “Very well, if you feel up to the task, you can have at it Mr Longbottom. I will contact Pomona about extra credit for you, or if you prefer it can be House Points – two per tutoring session.”

“Uh,” Neville said, quietly. “Extra credit, please.”

Professor McGonagall gave a single brisk nod and took a quick note.

“Off you go boys,” said Professor Slughorn. “I’d like a word with Minerva.”

Harry took Mr Gold with him to meet up with Luna. Her passion for creatures would probably mesh well with Mr Gold’s insistence on being descended from a dragon-serpent-god (the word didn’t translate well from parseltongue). Luna was kicking her legs dangerously out the window when he arrived. 

“Hey, Luna,” Harry said. “This is Mr Gold.  _ Mr Gold, this is Luna.” _

_ “Put me one the pale one!”  _ Mr Gold hissed. Harry complied after a quick check that Luna wouldn’t mind, which she responded to by making grabby hands. Mr Gold slithered around her like a scarf that was also a bracelet that was also a crown. “ _ Look at me! Does my gold not shine even brighter beside this silver human!” _

Harry smiled. “ _ You look amazing as always. _ Luna, he says he looks good on you. Silver and gold.”

Luna nodded solemnly, “It is an honour to enhance the beauty of such a magnificent creature.”

Harry translated for Mr Gold who preened and told him to tell her about Vritra, so she could be properly honoured and awed.

“He said to tell you he is descended from Vritra, a serpent-dragon-god, of drought and adversary. The people I stayed with over summer break said he was a Drought Serpent, though.”

Luna gasped. “Descended from an Asura? I simply must ask if Mr Gold would honour my father and I with an interview and picture for the Quibbler! Front page!”

Harry laughed. “He’d love that, let me ask.  _ Luna wants to put you in a magazine, an interview and some pictures. The place of honour in the magazine even. _ ”

“ _ Magazine? The texts with many pictures that everyone can read?” _

_ “Yeah.” _

_ “By Shesha! Finally a human who understands my importance! Yes! Put me in writing and many pictures.” _

Harry translated with a laugh, to Luna’s delight. She at once took out a notebook and pen.

One evening at dinner Harry was suddenly struck with the thought that Romilda Vane was absolutely beautiful and delightful. He immediately scanned the Great Hall for her, only to realise he didn’t know what she looked like or even which house she belonged to. He sighed, pushing his food away and laying his head on the table. 

“Harry?” Blaise asked him.

“What’s wrong?” Daphne asked, putting a hand to his forehead. He waved her away and sighed deeply again.

“A little lovesick?” Giggled Tracy Davis and glanced at Blaise. 

“Yes!” Harry said, sitting suddenly up. “I am in love!”

Tracy blinked, bewildered. “O-kay.”

“Love? That’s a bit forward isn’t it?” Daphne said, something uneasy in her tone.

“No! I love her!”

“Her?” Asked Daphne and shared a look with Tracy beside her. Harry felt Blaise scooching a few centimeters away from him.

“Romilda Vane,” Harry told Daphne with as much solemnity he could, but another sigh ruined it. She was so wonderful.

“Romilda Vane?” Daphne asked. “I didn’t know you knew her.”

“I don’t! That is the problem! She is the loveliest, most beautiful girl in the whole world and I don’t even know which House she’s in!”

Daphne narrowed her eyes. “Is that so?”

Tracy straightened up in alarm, and Harry felt Blaise take his hand. “Harry?” Blaise asked, taking his attention. “Why don’t we take you to Romilda Vane?”

“Really?” Harry asked, delighted. 

Blaise nodded, serious. Not as serious as Harry’s serious love for Romilda Vane, of course. Nothing could overpower what she did to him, he would do anything for her, anything to please her.

“Come, Harry. Romilda Vane is this way,” Daphne said and took his other hand. They led him out of the Great Hall and then a bunch of other places, but he couldn’t focus. He was going to Romilda Vane! Lovely, wonderful, Romilda! Harry was suddenly filled with dread. 

“What if Romilda doesn’t like me? I haven’t done anything to my hair! I just ate dinner! Do I have anything in my teeth?” Harry asked, showing his teeth to Blaise.

“Your teeth are fine, Harry,” Blaise said, though his smile looked a little strained. Harry felt as if he was forgetting something. Romilda Vane! The only who deserves his love and time and affection and consideration. 

“Here we are, Harry,” said Daphne, sitting him down on a bed in the Hospital Wing. 

“Where is Romilda?” Harry asked, standing back up again. Daphne gently pushed him back down.

“She’s coming,” Daphne said.

Blaise suddenly returned with Madam Pomfrey, when had he left? “Romilda wants you to drink this first, else she won’t come,” Blaise said, gesturing to Madam Pomfrey who came over to him with a potions vial.

Harry gasped and clutched the vial. He took it in three big gulps.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please comment! They make me so happy and inspired! <3

**Author's Note:**

> Just a reminder that really any feedback would be great!
> 
> I'm not British, nor natively English speaking and I don't have a beta, so correct me if I'm wrong about anything grammatical or if there's a weird word choice.


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